Porcelain Heart
by 12-SmileyRose
Summary: She was porcelain; moulded and chipped and painted by society into what it deems beautiful, what it deems the perfect lady. Yet there was a commendable coldness in her. A strength and toughness that refuses to yield, refuses to conform. She was synchronously indelicate and fragile, and Uchiha Itachi wanted her. [Itasaku ItachixSakura Nonmass]
1. Prologue: Disillusioned

**PORCELAIN HEART** **  
**AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:**

This story is purely a work of fan fiction. All Naruto rights belong to _Masashi Kishimoto_ and other names, character, places, and events are merely a product of the writer's imagination or otherwise altered to fit the story. It is neither historically accurate nor ascribed to the original story canon.

* * *

 **PROLOGUE  
** Re-edited: _21 March 2017_

* * *

A slow, mildly cold wind whistled by. It flowed past her shoulders, coaxing her short, silky tresses to dance along. And her eyes close, the corner of her lips tilt up softly as she breathes in deep, letting her thoughts drift away with the breeze.

Little Sakura glanced up at her okaa-san, wondering where they were heading. She didn't recognise this road. It seemed similar to the other roads she frequently travelled through with her family, but since most roads in Konohagakure looked alike, she couldn't be too sure.

The path was broad, uneven with a lot of pebbles and rocks that made it difficult for her to keep balance on her geta. The shops lining the streets were few and far between, but still, it was strangely crowded.

Letting her curious eyes wander, she noticed a lot of children who appeared to be around her age. Their contagious laughter and lively chatter readily echoed through the streets. There were a lot of men wearing that headband with the funny swirl.

Her otou-san had one too.

When she had asked otou-san about it, he called it a forehead protector. He told her it indicated their status as a shinobi; the leaf-shaped swirl symbolised their loyalty and pride as citizens of Konohagakure. He told her shinobi were protectors of the village with neat magical techniques like disappearing and talking to oversized animals so they can work together to fight off evil shinobi.

She wanted to learn magic too. She wanted to protect her village like her otou-san did, to go on missions as well as visit other villages. She wanted to see if the other villages were as beautiful as her otou-san had described them to be.

Sakura almost tripped when a blonde haired boy suddenly ran past her, cheekily taunting the man on his tail with profanities that were unfitting for a child his age. If she had not clasped onto the fabric of her okaa-san's kimono in a panic, she was sure she would have had a face full of dirt. She wanted to press the boy to apologise, but when she looked ahead, neither he nor the man after him was in sight.

She huffed; there was no point now.

Straightening her kimono, she continued her perusal of her surroundings. Her brows drew together, and her lips pinched when she came to a realisation: they were heading the same way. Every child, every adult was heading the same direction her okaa-san was going.

What was going on?

Was there some village festival she forgot about?

"Sakura-chan, what's running through your pretty little mind?" her okaa-san's voice was soft and soothing compared to the raucous buzz around her.

The corner of her lips quirked. She loves it when okaa-san calls her mind pretty. It makes her feel special. And smart.

Little Sakura fancies herself as a smart girl.

"Where are we going?" Sakura asked, locking gazes with the pair of Viridian she inherited. Otou-san had always emphasised how much he loved how both her mother and she have eyes like precious gems. At one glance, it reminded him of how valuable they were to him.

"To the Academy."

Just as she was about to question her mother further, she caught sight of a white circular building and its orange circular roof. The vast crowd swarming in front of it struck a chord in her, making her stomach roll and her heart thrum faster. Feeling overwhelmed, she stepped closer to the comfort of her okaa-san.

"Okaa-san, why are we here?"

Her okaa-san did not answer, steadily leading her through the crowd towards a group of young girls. The closer they got, the more she couldn't help but notice how these little girls, like her, were dressed in lavish kimonos, their hair upheld and decorated with ornaments studded with colourful stones. They were huddled closely, seemingly far calmer than the rowdy bunch of boys gathered at the other end of the open space, by the swing.

Little Sakura knew better.

Those girls were far more excited than they pretended.

"You are five years old now, Sakura-chan," her okaa-san's voice cut through her musings. She tilted her head in confusion, numerous questions burning the tip of her tongue. Before she could voice them, however, her okaa-san continued. "Which means you are old enough to start learning the proper technique and process of flower arrangements, tea preparations, clothing yourself—things you need to be proficient at to be a good wife."

She soaked in her mother's words, trying to decipher why she felt a little more than disconcerted. Didn't her okaa-san start teaching her all those already? Maybe this _ah-cah-deh-mee_ teaches it better. Perhaps they could be teaching more, like those illusion techniques her otou-san had demonstrated once!

Hope bubbling through her chest, she inquired, "Will I learn how to be a shinobi?"

Her okaa-san smiled, but it was wane, and the corners of her eyes did not crinkle. She waited patiently as her okaa-san stopped in front of a lady she never met before. She watched as okaa-san bowed, greeted and initiated conversation with her.

Seconds… minutes passed as little Sakura glanced back and forth between her okaa-san and the lady, but when her okaa-san showed no signs of responding, disappointment immediately blanketed her.

Somehow, the lack of an answer was an answer in itself.

What is she here to learn that she couldn't learn from home? Are the boys going to learn the same lessons she would?

She leaned backwards, glancing over her shoulder, directing her gaze to examine the all-male group at the other end of the yard. It was funny how their choice of attire was lackluster, consisting of a simple pair of pants and a shirt embellished only by a clan insignia, if at all. Their abrasive, crass behaviour was disregarded by the adults around them as if it was normal—as if it was expected.

Unfair!

Didn't okaa-san say it was rude to misbehave in public?

Her inquisitiveness had her darting her attention from one boy to another until she realised they all carried four-pointed stars and triangular knives similar to those her otou-san kept in a pouch strapped to his hip. Theirs were wooden, though, and some of the boys were swinging the weapons around carelessly. Unfamiliarly.

Although they could probably afford to learn how to dress appropriately, she doubts they were here to learn tasks as mundane as flower arrangements and tea preparations.

"Sakura-chan," Okaa-san placed a gentle hand on the top of her head, drawing the entirety of little Sakura's attention, "This is Suzume-sensei. She'll be in charge of all your classes."

"It's nice to meet you, Sakura-chan." Sakura glanced up at Suzume-sensei. The lady had dark, curly hair with lips that were thin and painted red. She wore glasses that were so foggy, little Sakura could not see her eyes. Her back was straight, her arms hidden beneath the sleeves of her kimono and folded in front of her. "I'm going to teach you how to be a proper lady."

.

.

.

It was the first time little Sakura grasped the significant gap between the status of men and women.

It was the first time little Sakura understood, just a little, that she won't ever learn to be a shinobi.

It was the first time little Sakura was disillusioned.

* * *

 **AN:-** I wanted to illustrate the specific event when Sakura realised the distinction between men and women; the event when her childish hopes met reality and it began to crumble. I tried showing it in a child's perspective, which is, quite literarily, all over the place. A child's attention is easily diverted by anything that piques their interest, but a child can also be oddly perceptive, even though half the time they don't quite realise it.


	2. Chapter 1: Kuro no Senshi

**PORCELAIN HEART** **  
**AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1  
** Re-edited: _13 June 2017_

* * *

 _Epigraph:_

"Make mistakes... Walk on the cracks.  
Break the rules  
that were made to be broken."

—L. H. Cosway, Hearts of Fire.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The last tinge of blue faded as darkened wispy clouds painted the surroundings in gloom. A massive gust of wind whipped through the thick canopy of the forest, wrenching dust and dry leaves off of the ground just as a bolt of lightning cracked the sky.

Three cloaked figures hurried their pace, their bodies moulding into black blurs as they vaulted from one tree to another. Their ears kept perked to the raucous of the forest critters scrambling towards shelter when the first roll of thunder, rambunctious and daunting, exploded overhead. The air was humid, thick with the sweet pungent of ozone, but the trio was undeterred when the first drops of rain pelted the parched earth in slow, periodical succession.

The density of the trees began to dwindle while the rain continued to grow denser, more oppressive, soaking them and obstructing their movements. They soon caught sight of the worn down path leading towards the village gates. However, the village wasn't their journey's end.

At the signal of their captain, they switched courses. Leaping onto the ground, they headed away from the path and deeper into the forest, their destination clear in mind. The further they went in, the clearer they could witness the torrential rain bludgeon the surface of the river, its turbulent gurgles deafening their hearing. Reaching the glade hidden behind overgrown bushes, they headed straight towards the large boulders beside the river bed, the squeaks of their sandals prominent against the muddy ground.

Other than its massive size, the rocks were innocuous enough, aligned in an irregular semi-circular formation with moss and cracks peppering its surfaces.

It blended into the background.

The three figures stood in front of the boulders, their backs to the overflowing river, their ears straining to hear over the thundering storm. Affirming that they were alone with no chances of being caught, the three figures raised their hands simultaneously, executing a series of seals. Their voices harmonised as they muttered the words for an unsealing jutsu.

For a moment, nothing occurred. The rain incessantly battered the ground, the river steadfastly gushed, the winds relentlessly whisked through the trees, vehemently snapping and splintering the bulky branches, agitating the dense foliage. Then a noise, the scroop of rough stone grinding against rough stone, ripped through nature's commotion.

The trio watched as a perfectly rectangular chunk of earth at the center of the semi-circular mound of rocks shifted. It dipped lower before sliding to the side until it was unseen and a decently sized opening was left behind. Surprisingly enough, the rain couldn't seem to enter. The corpulent droplets splashed against an invisible ground, ricocheting away from the sinkhole. It was as if there was a barrier keeping them out.

Without hesitation, one after another, the cloaked figures jumped into the dark abyss.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

"Report."

The tone was clipped, implicitly stating the superiority of the speaker sitting behind the desk they stood in front of.

They were underground in a boxed room with no windows. Only a single door lead in and out of the graciously-sized space. It was enveloped in shadows; a couple of kerosene lamps hung along the brick walls, emanating an eerie glow over the rigid occupants. The silence was unnerving and the tension palpable.

One cloaked figure braved to step forward.

Then bowed.

"Mission success; the children were safely handed over to Hagihara Aira-san as ordered and the perpetrators executed as planned."

A booming laugh resounded across the office, catching the cloaked persons unaware. It was a robust, infectious sound that vibrated against the earthen walls, immediately cutting down the pressure hanging in the air. The chilling shadows abated, and the grim space seemingly brightened. "Would I have expected anything less from you Sakura, Ino, Tenten?"

Dainty but calloused hands reached out to pull back the hoods resting over their heads, revealing the humbled faces of three young women with distinct features that belied their bloodlines. They chuckled as Tonton, their master's beloved pet pig, squealed in agreement.

There had been rumours circulating around the black market trade routes about child trafficking in the south-west borders of the fire country. The amount of traders and buyers willing to do business with the traffickers had been as astounding as it was heinous, naturally raising concerns of those above them. After drafting informants to gather sufficient information and confirm these suspicions, their squad of three had been appointed to intercept the latest trade.

While their priority was to ensure the captured children reached the Hagihara Child Protection Centre safely, the mission also included crippling the rotten organisation permanently.

It hadn't been easy trying to slip their way into the organisation's ranks. Moreso when they were given explicit instructions to keep a low profile; simply get in, get the job done, get out. They were to leave no evidence as to who was responsible for the downfall of a rapidly growing underground ring. But they got it done.

They always do.

"Of course not," Sakura replied, pointedly placing a hand on her jutted hip, "We're one of your best squads after all."

Tsunade grunted, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "Don't be so presumptuous, girl. You're replaceable."

"Ah, but that will be another four years of you torturing the replacement."

"Torturing is the fun part."

"She'll break and abandon by the first week."

"Like you did on your first day?"

Haruno Sakura sputtered, throwing an incredulous look at her mentor, "I did not!"

Tsunade raised an elegant brow, but before she could formulate a reply, Yamanaka Ino threw an arm over her childhood friend's shoulder, sniggering, "Of course you did, Forehead. You were blubbering and snivelling like a little baby."

Almost as if on cue, both Tenten and Ino dropped to their knees, their hands burrowing in their hair, their expression dramatically contorting in mock agony. Synchronously, they wailed, "I can't! I can't take it anymore! She—she's a _demon!_ "

They were loud, their fake misery dripping with every word they bemoaned and every fabricated gasp that slipped in between. The girls' eyes widened. Their voices dropped to a baritone at the word 'demon,' dragging out the first syllable, sarcastically making it sound so utterly horrifying.

And they burst out laughing, taking keen delight from Sakura's mortification. The pastel-haired girl huffed, her nose scrunching as she glowered at them. "Wait a minute, I wasn't the only one. You two were equally just as bad."

In all honesty, Sakura did break down, not unlike the way Ino and Tenten acted out. Although, they did greatly exaggerate her momentary neurosis; she didn't blubber and wail like a newborn.

She didn't.

Not really.

Plus, she did _not_ abandon her post. Besides, she was not the only person who underwent that initiation training and came out praying for dear life.

At the tender age of thirteen, they all happened to join the kunoichi drill camp disguised as first aid training for ladies of status. Every girl who attended can mutually agree it was the first time any of them had ever experienced such excruciating physical pain and brutalising mental exhaustion.

Senju Tsunade had been unforgiving— torturous. She hurled attack after attack, leaving no opportunity for any of them to dodge, duck or hide. It was one fierce woman against thirty-nine naïve, over-confident girls. By the end of it, none of them could feel their limbs let alone contemplate walking back to their quarters. Pain numbed their bodies, and they were covered head to toe with grime and dye more colourful than the sunrise at the Valley of the End.

But it wasn't the most humiliating part.

Throughout the time at the camp, Tsunade did not make use of her dynamic jutsu skills, medical or otherwise. All she had in her arsenal of weapons were balloons filled with sticky water, powdered dye and, cruelly enough, a questionable yellow substance which made their hair stink of rotten corpses for _weeks_ afterwards.

For an old lady, Tsunade sure had unbelievable brawn behind those blows.

It was to give them a taste of the life they wished to lead, she had said. It wasn't for the faint-hearted, she had said. It wasn't about holding power over men, she had said. The Senju descendant had relayed an abundance of wisdom Sakura had not been ready to accept back then, but as time passed, she had soon come to learn that her shisou was right. To be a kunoichi wasn't about overpowering men. It was about fulfilling their self-worth and arming herself with the ability to push past her limitations without any constrictions.

Unsurprisingly, the number of girls who attended the following training sessions kept dwindling until their numbers significantly decreased by more than half. Only the most dedicated, those who had the unyielding will and determinism to be a kunoichi had stuck through until the end.

"It's not healthy, you know," Tenten spoke up, her tone serious. She and Ino now stood at ease beside Sakura, having gotten up from their position on the cold stone floor.

The skin between Sakura's brows puckered in her confusion. "What isn't?"

"To be in denial."

Ino couldn't suppress her chuckles, especially when Tonton snorted as if in agreement with Tenten. He was one smart pig.

The veins on Tsunade's forehead ticked as she watched the immaturity play out like a theatrical show in front of her. The three girls were dishevelled. Their hair matted and their clothes sodden, sticking to their body like second skin, but they mocked and teased one another with words filled with harmless humour. The intensity of their laughter increased as the seconds passed. Watching them interact as they are now, nobody would believe the three standing before her were some of the most accomplished, lethal young women to have ever lived.

"Enough!" Tsunade bellowed, shocking them into silence, "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"We do?" Sakura tilted her head, turning her attention towards her irate mentor.

"Go home before people start getting suspicious."

At her warning, the three girls sobered up. Any previous traces of lighthearted mirth were washed away beneath facades of impassiveness.

The buxom blonde doesn't know whether she should be impressed or distressed of how swiftly they could… _switch off_ their emotions. She is aware, though, that it was all part of their guise—she taught it to them after all. Their impeccable control over their emotions kept them sane and rational during missions. It also helped them remain under the radar in public, living their lives as normally as they possibly could.

Tsunade can't recall a time when this kunoichi team irrevocably failed a mission. Admittedly, during their first mission, they committed potentially fatal errors. They were arrogant, overestimating their ability to wield freshly learnt skills, letting the rush of momentary power cloud their judgments. Yet they still succeeded. Quick wit and improvision managed to salvage the mission in their favour, and the girls learnt fast to not commit the same mistake.

Team Bamboo has a long track record of fruitful missions, and Tsunade couldn't be any more proud of them.

For now, though, they needed to return home before the busybodies begin to notice their absence. They've been gone for over a week. In a village that thrived on gossip the way Konoha does, it was detrimental for them to be seen out in the open once more.

Without another word, the three girls bowed respectfully and turned on their heels to make their way out of the office. Just as Sakura reached for the doorknob, Tsunade's voice halted them.

"And clean up your mess on your way!"

Glancing at their feet, they groaned out loud, finally taking notice of the puddles forming beneath them as well as the thick trail of mud leading back out to the hallway.

This was torture they did not appreciate.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

"My talents lay with sharp weapons, not cleaning supplies," Tenten bemoaned, stretching her arms above her head, her back arching until it popped and her tense muscles relaxed. "Anyways, I'm heading home for a long, _long_ sleep—Tsunade-sama is a slave-driver."

"So will I," Ino commented, "I'll see you around, Forehead."

Sakura bid them farewell, waving her hand weakly until they veered a corner and were out of sight.

She stood on the outskirts of Konoha cemetery, where one of the hidden entrances to the kunoichi headquarters was located nearby; it was what they used to get back into the village. Entering through the front gates would have been reckless considering they were not even supposed to be anywhere beyond the towering walls.

The storm had long seized, but the wind was still bitingly cold, compelling Sakura to tuck her hands in the sleeves of her yukata for warmth. She had changed outfits at the headquarters, and as usual, the material felt heavy. It was far more constricting than the formfitting qipao dress and shorts she generally wore for missions. Peeking over the treetops, she could see traces of sunrise, the soft shades of oranges trickling into the horizon. Knowing she needs to avoid the early birds, she started on her short trek home.

As her geta clacked against the pavement, Sakura ached to massage her stiff neck. But, she was out in public, and a proper lady does not openly show any signs of discomfort, even when there was no soul other than her own roaming the streets.

Her shisou had made them mop, sweep and scrub down every hallway they left mud trails on until the floors shone with no traces of dirt left behind. Normally, such a mundane task would have been done effortlessly. But after a gruelling mission and travelling through a wrecking storm, the girls were wiped out. The arduous cleaning did nothing but add to the strain of exhaustion.

Sakura couldn't blame her Tsunade though, as it was her twisted way of reminding them of their place and role in society. After all, no matter how noble the cause or intent, what they were doing was still illegal; a crime punishable under the eyes of shinobi law.

In a time when the status of women was vastly inferior to the status of men, women were considered to be the property of their fathers until marriage, after which they become the property of their husbands. They were expected to be the perfect ladies; meek, compliant and masters at 'household arts.' They were to learn to be literate, to know how to host tea ceremonies, to manage a home and bring up her future children.

They were not allowed to learn shinobi arts.

In the eyes of men, women were the weaker sex. They should serve no purpose beyond being a source of fine pleasure and a vessel to bear the next generation. To allow them to learn the arts of shinobi was to give them power— power they can misuse and turn against them to take control.

And control was something women should never have.

They would rebel.

Sakura scoffed at the irony.

Women did rebel. Except, it wasn't in the way the men expected and definitely not for the reasons they predicted. They did not want to be dominant while men the subservient; they wanted to be equals. They wanted freedom, to have rights over their own person and to be able to have a choice. But that wasn't allowed, so they rebelled.

They practised shinobi arts.

Women educated themselves in ninjustsu, genjutsu, kenjutsu, fuuinjutsu, even senjutsu. They learnt the skills of shinobi and called themselves kunoichi, forming their own organisation, operating right under the nose of their village.

Ideally, Sakura wished she could say she had been the first and only woman to rebel, but she wasn't. The rebellion had been occurring for generations preceding her. If she remembers correctly, Senju Tsunade is the Fifth _Kaichou,_ the current standing fifth leader, and force behind the daily operations of the organisation. And even though Sakura hasn't personally met them, she knows there were hundreds of kunoichi working under Tsunade, their numbers coming close to the number of able-bodied shinobi in Konoha alone.

That wasn't to say it was easy keeping their dissent under wraps because it wasn't. It was difficult, especially when their missions clashed with those of the shinobi. They had to be on constant alert, careful to not reveal their identities, let alone their gender, during battles. They needed to be wise with who they recruited, because similarly to how men accepted their superiority, some women consented to their domesticated roles. These women would not second guess selling them out.

And that was a risk they could not afford.

However, unbeknownst to the shinobi, they, the men themselves, helped a great deal in concealing their not-quite-legal activities. Every mission of theirs that the kunoichi had covertly adopted, every outlawed dealing they thwarted, the shinobi believed it to be the work of a single nukenin.

A single, _male_ nukenin.

They called 'him' _Kuro no Senshi_ — the black warrior.

Sakura bit her bottom lip to stop herself from grinning. For being boundlessly educated, men could be pretty unintelligent. It didn't even occur to them that a woman—a group of women— could be behind the interferences.

Ignorance was indeed bliss.

Instead of correcting the false assumptions, _Kuro no Senshi_ , as they were publicly known, encouraged them. They duped the shinobi into hunting down an inexistent individual. Why wouldn't they? It worked well in their favour.

Sakura shook away her wayward thoughts as she stepped onto the front stoop of her house. Instead, she focused on carefully expanding her senses, allowing her chakra to probe the immediate area around her as well as the interior of her house. She felt her parents' steady flow of chakra around the area in which the master's bedroom was situated; a tell-tale sign they were deep in slumber. Other than them, there was no one else around. As a precautionary, she glanced over her shoulders, thoroughly scrutinising every nook and cranny within sight before striding closer to the grey door.

It was safe.

Immediately, her hand whipped out of the sleeve of her yukata. She slid a sleek piece metal into the keyhole and, with a subtle flare of chakra, fiddled with it until she heard the final _click_ of the lock. Her fingers wrapped around the knob and with slow, silent precision, she turned it. Looking at the surroundings behind her once more, she affirmed there was no one around to witness or to question her being out of bed at the break of dawn.

She held her breath.

She was gone.

The door slid open then shut, a dark blur slipping in faster than lightning could flash, undetected by any untrained eye. Sakura leaned her back and head against the door, heaving a sigh of relief once the lock was bolted again. Pausing for a moment, she checked her parents' chakra flow, ensuring it had remained steady, undisturbed; she couldn't afford to have them waking up now.

Stepping away from the door, she toed off her sandals before making her way up the flight of stairs, turning left towards her room. Her feet padded against the wooden floorboards, the susurrus of her socks resounding against the stillness of her house.

Even though most clans lived together in a shared compound, Sakura's parents had opted to live away from the rest of the Haruno. Their family of three lived instead in central Konoha in a house far smaller, more modern and more homely than the traditional compound enshrouded with the suffocating air of formality.

Suddenly, Sakura felt her father's chakra spike.

She halted.

She stilled.

She waited.

Like the rain she barrelled through earlier, her father's chakra flow trickled slowly at first, stirring—humming. Then in a split second, his chakra gained volume, flowing as thickly and as violently as any river during a ferocious storm; he was rousing.

Sakura rubbed the tips of her fingers against her moist palms, unable to brave a step—to make the floorboards squeak. Her frantic eyes surveyed her environment for any means of escape. She was in the hallway, standing a hand-full of steps away from her parents' room door. Just a few more steps and she would be in front of her own, but her legs were heavier than lead, refusing to adhere to her command to _move._

A creak of the bed.

A rustling of the blanket.

The air around her stilled. Sakura clenched her jaw. She could hear her breaths getting thicker, heavier as she prayed to Kami-sama for luck. If her father arose only to see her wandering at such an early hour, he would be suspicious. Although he wasn't as well-known as Hatake Kakashi or as well-praised as Uchiha Itachi, her father was still an excellent shinobi in his own right. She _knows_ her father has had his suspicions about her for a very long time, but he had never addressed the issue. So far, he remained at a distance, observing silently, pretending nothing was amiss.

A sharp cough.

A muffled groan.

Sakura's paranoia tells her he is aware. Paranoia tells her that she could not have possibly kept her rebellion under wraps as well as she had thought, but even so, Sakura hoped the voice in her head was wrong. She hoped he had no proof. Although her father adores her, treating both her and her mother fairly, she doesn't know where he stands on the subject of women's rights. She doesn't know what he would think of her once he finds out.

If there were one person in the world Sakura did not want to disappoint, it would be her father.

A soft thump.

An unrecognisable crackle.

She felt fear grip her heart with its sharp claws, the cold dread sinking into her skin, but she repressed the reflex to shiver. Someone was watching her—watching and waiting and lusting for her to commit an error, for her to lose composure. One drop of leaked chakra, one tiny creak, one measly shuffle; that was all it would take for her father to catch her red-handed.

There was no window to escape from, no dark corner to hide in. What was she going to do?

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Uchiha Itachi stood a few steps away from the ruins, his critical eye taking note of the extent of the wreckage. From the upturned asphalt leading towards the scorched debris to the wisps of bitter smoke curling over the heap of crumbled brick walls, everything before him screamed an intense, unforgiving battle.

A battle that could have, more than likely, left no survivor.

He had known something was amiss the moment the diminutive town entered his line of vision. Even though nightfall had long descended and it was the norm for most people to have been fast asleep, the silence that encompassed the town had seemed eerily unnatural. As his team ran from street to street, zipping past numerous houses and shops, Itachi had noticed that not a single building had an open, welcoming door nor did light illuminate from any window. The community buildings, like the medical clinic and the bathhouse with the _'open 24/7'_ sign appeared strangely empty. Abandoned.

Itachi had sensed several chakras of civilians within each construct, but their chakra flow was distorted, unstable—erratic.

Apprehension engulfed him then, so he led his team towards their intended destination with caution hanging on the back of his mind. He expected an ambush or an elaborate genjutsu. Maybe even a pre-set trap, because although highly unlikely, it was possible their target could have been tipped off about their arrival.

However, when his Sharingan detected no suspicious movements and when he did not feel the familiar disorienting layers of genjutsu, he set his assumptions aside. He set it aside, but he did not disregard it.

Now, standing in front of what remained of their target's hideout, disbelief engulfed him. Several trees were uprooted, its thick trunks broken, blistered and scorched black with sooth. The ground was fissured, cracked with relatively deep crevices left behind by chunks of solid earth that appeared to have been forced out of place. Singed branches, split rocks, and charred leaves scattered throughout the vicinity, yet the place was oddly spotless.

It screamed suspicion.

Typically, a battlefield would be littered with weaponry, or even traces of the jutsu exchanged during the attacks. There would be noticeable dents made by shuriken and kunai, rugged skid marks, frantic footprints, as well as spots of drying blood with scraps of shredded clothing strewn around. But mostly, there would be carnage. At least one corpse would be found cold, lying haphazardly as it decays.

On this battleground, there were none. A shinobi combat that left substantial environmental destruction equivalent to a war zone couldn't possibly have no casualties.

Multiple possibilities and reasonable explanations for the unexpected demolition of their target's lair ran through his analytical mind, but Itachi could not come to a definitive conclusion. Since the underground organisation had been the ants crawling on the nerves of several other hidden villages for quite awhile now, it was likely that this attack was the outcome of brutal retaliation.

Or was competition? An act of envy or grudge from a rival child trafficking "business." After all, the quick rise of Kurosawa in the black market trade had been as astounding as it was horrifying. He remorselessly built his success through nefarious deeds, stepping on numerous people along the way. Itachi wouldn't be surprised if someone needed to be rid of him.

Konoha had as well.

"Taichou, what are your orders?"

Itachi turned towards his squad. They stood next to him, their faces hidden beneath their ANBU masks, but the rigidness of their posture tells him they are alert and aware their mission had been compromised. "Kuma, search for bodies under that rubble. Check if there are any chance survivors. Nezumi, Usagi, scout the perimeter. Rendezvous back here in an hour."

"Hai!"

He watched his team disperse before he addressed the only member remaining. As a recently promoted Special Jounin, Nara Shikamaru was not an official member of his ANBU team. However, since one of his members was lying critically injured in a hospital bed, Itachi requested Shikamaru as a temporary substitute. He had a niggling hunch the Nara kid's intelligence would be valuable.

He had been right.

"Tanuki," Itachi's lips twitched at code name. Shikamaru's personality couldn't have been anymore vastly different from the mischievous, cheerful and sometimes a little bit forgetful nature of a _Tanuki,_ yet there he was hiding behind a mask decorated to illustrate the animal. "I need you to help me piece the situation together. It seems someone had dug Kurosawa a hole he'll never rise from."

* * *

Kuma—Bear  
Usagi—Rabbit  
Nezumi—Mouse  
Tanuki—Japanese raccoon


	3. Chapter 2: Enigma

**PORCELAIN HEART  
** AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2  
** Re-edited: _14 June 2017_

* * *

 _Epigraph:_

"Her story was a tad bit different.  
Pull up your soul, listen to the vibrations she gives off;  
it's deeper than the words she'll tell you.  
You have to sit with her emotions,  
her soul and voice to really understand."

 _—Sylvester McNutt._

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

"We're presuming the attackers had set fire to the building before the walls were knocked down by brute force. It appears the surrounding grounds had been deliberately upturned so the walls would cave into the underground hideout. Most likely, an earth jutsu was used since the crevices were too deep to have been made by water, wind or lightning jutsu."

The ANBU Captain observed quietly as the Hokage leaned forwards and rested his elbows on the desk, his fingers subsequently intertwining. The dismal tinges of orange and red of the sun setting beyond the window behind him accentuated the displeasure shadowing his face. It was unusual to see Minato sport such a somber look. Gone were welcoming smiles, unnervingly replaced by downturned lips and hardened eyes that contradicted his mellow personality.

Itachi waited patiently for his leader to digest the information he had just relayed, well aware the Hokage was dissecting the situation to better decide on their next course of action.

Since the mission failed before it could even begin, there wasn't much Itachi's ANBU squad could do to salvage the situation. This fact became more apparent as Itachi delegated tasks in hopes of piecing together the incentive behind the attack, or preferably, the identities of the attackers. They needed to paint the bigger picture, and the children had to be found. So he assigned three of his team members to hide out in the forest, giving them instructions to look out for stray shinobi while they gathered any possible evidence from the remnants of the battle.

Meanwhile, with Shikamaru at his side, Itachi had taken residence in the quaint civilian village under the disguise of wandering travellers. For three days, they inspected and questioned the wary villagers, taking extra measures to remain discreet, but their hard work was unavailing. While the civilians had been well aware of the commotion, they were too afraid to venture anywhere near Kurosawa's premises, choosing to wait within the refuge of their households until the sounds of battle had ceased.

In short, there were no witnesses.

Realising they were wasting precious time on futile attempts, the young ANBU Captain had little option but to return to the village with what measly information they managed to scrape together.

Standing in front of his Hokage now, Itachi wonders if he should have seen this coming; if he should have expected to fail sooner or later. It's been awhile since Itachi had failed any mission, and he can't quite describe how he feels about returning empty handed.

"And what of Kurosawa?" the Hokage asks.

"Tadashi has confirmed with his Byakugan; Kurosawa Shigeo's body was one of the many buried beneath the remains of the wall. He and his first-hand subordinates are all confirmed dead."

"What about the children? Were their bodies found?"

"No, Hokage-sama," Shikamaru replied, "No bodies befitting that of children ages two to fifteen were found. There were also no traces of footprints, so we are unsure if they managed to flee during the battle. It's possible the attackers' intention was only to take down the organisation. They might have chosen to spare the children's lives. However, as of the moment, their whereabouts and what happened to them remain unknown."

Minato's brow dipped in concern, contemplating the possibility of the children slipping away from their captors. "Do you suppose the attackers belong to a different organisation? That would mean the children escaped the hands of one child trafficking Lord only to be captured by the another."

Shikamaru jerked his head in agreement.

"Our priority is to find them."

"During our short stay in the village," Itachi began to explain, "An elderly woman happened to mention that, after the battle, two servants who recently started working for Kurosawa—"

Minato cut him off with a raised hand. "By servants, you mean to say…" He did not need to complete his sentence. Itachi understood him, and the grave look the ANBU Captain gave him in response was enough to confirm his thoughts.

"Prostitution, Hokage-sama." Lips thinning, the blond Hokage gestured for him to continue.

"The girls had knocked on every door crying out for someone let them in. No one was willing to, except the old woman."

It had been a stroke of luck when Itachi stumbled upon the small dango stand the old widow owned and co-operated alongside her granddaughter. Since he had a relatively sweet tooth, Itachi found it the perfect opportunity to glean some information.

The granddaughter had been hospitable enough despite being a little wary of him, but the old hag had been downright hostile the first day he attempted conversation. She had sneered down her crooked nose at him with a severity that had almost taken him aback. However, by frequenting the dango stand thrice-a-day over the span of their three-day stay in the village, and with a little bit of patience and manipulation, he managed to crack the old croon enough to get her to spill some useful details.

According to the old woman, there were three girls; two sisters and a cousin. They had arrived in the village a little under a week before their, Itachi's ANBU team, own arrival, claiming to be desperate for work. Having pitied the dirtied state they were in, she had housed and offered them each a position in the dango stand as waitresses and kitchen help. Even so, due to having minimal customers, she couldn't give them sufficient pay. It may be why the two sisters had eagerly taken up the job as 'servants' at the child trafficking lord's compound. One of Kurosawa's subordinates who frequented the dango stand had offered them the position just days after they began working there.

"They were beautiful girls— innocent too—so it wasn't surprising that they managed to catch those bastards' attention. They didn't know any better, and I couldn't dissuade them. I was just happy at least one of them had a good head on her shoulders," the old woman had told him with a purse of her wrinkled lips. It was evident to Itachi she had grown some fondness for them within the short time frame they spent together.

The sisters immediately moved into Kurosawa's compound despite protests from their older cousin, and no one had heard from either girl until the night they came knocking on the old lady's house a couple of hours after the battle at Kurosawa's had ceased. They had been distraught. Their hair was disheveled, and angry rips lined their clothes. Red welts around their necks, purpling bruises on their arms and dried blood and soot covering every inch of their exposed skin— it was irrefutable evidence of abuse as well as of the fight that had brought down the hideout.

When Itachi had inquired about the girls' current whereabouts, the old widow hissed, regarding him with silent suspicion. Despite that, though, she revealed that she had sent them away the next morning, supplying them with just enough money to last them until they find another village and proper medical care. She sent them away in hopes that the girls would move past their horrific experience, coming out stronger from the other side.

Itachi carefully relayed all this information to the Hokage, keeping his tone neutral, filtering his words so as to not betray his personal thoughts regarding the three girls whose identities still remained unknown.

To anyone else, their story was not out of the ordinary. The girls were civilians who unintentionally got caught in a mess beyond their control. One could even say, and it pains Itachi to admit, that it was _normal_ for exceptionally beautiful girls who did not have the protection of a father or a husband to be unwittingly roped into prostitution. But Itachi's instincts itched. It was annoying, and it was bothersome, but Itachi had learned early on to trust his instincts. Something was just… _off_.

The girls' sudden arrival and equally sudden departure were coincidental—too coincidental.

"Those girls played a role in Kurosawa's downfall," Minato voiced the silent implications behind Itachi's lengthy tale. The ANBU Captain would not have relayed it to him if he did not deem it important. No, Itachi was far too calculative for that. "If not, they hold information concerning it and the children."

Itachi's nod was stiff. "I believe so, Hokage-sama."

Minato sighed, long and deep, before turning his head to regard his secretary who stood mutely by his side all this while. "Haruka-san, please arrange for another reconnaissance squad to gather intel on these girls. If possible, have them track down their location as well. So, make sure there's an Inuzuka in the team. Tell them to start with the old widow, then take it from there."

"Yes, Hokage-sama," she said, bowing, then leaving promptly to carry out her given duties.

Minato addressed the haggard ANBU Team in front of him, "Until then, this mission is off your hands. Go home, gentlemen, and rest well. You deserve it."

They knew a dismissal when they heard one.

"Except you Itachi. I have other matters to discuss with you."

Itachi frowned inwardly, wondering what it could be. As far as he was concerned, he has not done anything that warrants a private discussion with the Hokage. Perhaps it was his foolish little brother who has? Sasuke was teammates with the Hokage's son after all, and Team 7 was quite notorious for their… misdemeanours. It wasn't unusual for Minato, as the father of Naruto and longtime friends of his own parents, to keep Itachi informed of Team 7's latest transgressions and resulting punishments.

Even so, he should not jump to conclusions.

He waited patiently, shifting to a more comfortable standing position while the rest of his team disappeared in a flash. Shikamaru, staying true to the Naras' inherent laziness, opted to leave through the conventional use of the door. It amused Itachi how the younger man views _shunshin_ jutsu as more trouble than it's worth when most considered it the faster means of travel. A waste of chakra plus energy, Shikamaru says.

Once they were alone, Minato's hands moved in sequential ease to form the seals of a jutsu that would soundproof the room as well as alert them of any approaching figures. Itachi raised an inquisitive brow. It wasn't about his brother's team then. There would have been no need for privacy when the entire village knew about Team 7's antics.

He should be relieved. At least now he wouldn't need to deal with his mother's hysterics over Sasuke's outrageous pranks on unsuspecting villagers.

Minato leaned on the backrest of his seat, propping his elbows on the armrest while his fingers interlaced just above his lap. He leisurely regarded the Uchiha heir in front of him as he searched for words to better phrase what he was about to say. Clearing his throat, he asked, "What do you know about Kuro no Senshi?"

 _Kuro no Senshi?_ Itachi thought to himself, his brows dipping in contemplation. He was well aware of the man and his work; no self-respecting shinobi remained ignorant about him.

He's heard the alias whispered amongst shinobi, most often in contempt, but there were times when it was spoken in esteem. He's also heard of the man's disruptive practice through the eager mouths of village gossip mongers, blown out of proportion and embellished as if he were a worthy hero instead of a nameless, faceless convict who continued to elude the grasp of every shinobi sent out for his blood.

"He's a shinobi who works in the shadows, illicitly intervening with, and inhibiting shinobi work, preventing the successful completion of officially allocated missions," Itachi finally replied, his voice devoid of judgment, "His identity still remains unknown as no one has ever seen his full profile."

"And what do you think of his… _work_?"

Itachi cast a speculative glance at the Hokage, idly assessing where this conversation was headed. The village leader looked completely at ease, making it seem as if they were having a mundane conversation over a cup of tea instead of discussing a topic sensitive enough to have required him to soundproof the room from eavesdroppers.

"As an active member of the shinobi workforce, I would say his work is out-of-line. His interferences don't just prevent the smooth completion of missions, but also causes disruption in the shinobi system. More often than not, it leads to clients refusing to pay the fees under the excuse of the shinobi not having completed the job themselves. This enrages some, demotivates others." Itachi paused, hesitating as he weighed whether he was expected to be strictly objective or to deliver his particular views of the infamous man.

Perceiving the young Uchiha's reluctance, Minato prodded, "but what of your personal opinions?"

Shifting his weight onto his other leg, Itachi answered with caution. "Personally, however, I do not believe he is committing a crime. At least, not a crime worthy of severe punishment as most say. A shinobi's job is to maintain peace. Missions are undertaken to ensure the children, the women, the elderly and those who are unable to protect themselves live comfortably, safe within the village walls. Essentially, we all serve to protect the Will of Fire. Despite his interferences, Kuro no Senshi's motives appear to be similar to our own. He has not done anything that might indicate otherwise."

The satisfied quirk of Minato's lips didn't escape the seasoned Captain's attention. It was gone as soon as it appeared, but he noticed it, and it made him all the more curious. The Hokage was one of those desperate to catch Kuro no Senshi to uncover his identity, so why would his answer delight him?

What was the Hokage up to?

"The council thinks differently," Minato points out, "they believe Kuro no Senshi is purposefully sabotaging missions as a ploy to decrease Konoha's funds. Without sufficient money, the village can no longer function or sustain itself, after all."

The tidbit of information didn't surprise Itachi. The council tended to have a cynical, antagonistic view of everyone and anyone who goes against them and their archaic beliefs. Even the Yondaime Hokage did not escape this in spite of the fact that the old croons themselves had nominated him for the position in the first place.

Even though he has never crossed paths with Kuro no Senshi, the man piqued Itachi's interest enough for him to keep regular tabs on his latest exploits. He knew the council had disregarded the interventions as nothing more than mere coincidences at the beginning. Perhaps they were retaliation from enemies of their enemies, they had impetuously proposed. However, as the years passed, their ignorance gradually turned into suspicion when the frequency of interferences elevated instead of receding.

Recently, one out of every dozen missions in the least was intercepted by the notorious renegade.

Itachi cannot fathom how a single man had the ability to move unnoticed for nearly a century. He must be really aged by now, considering the number of years he had been actively intervening. Despite all odds, no shinobi was invisible, so it makes him wonder if there was more than one person at play or if he who began this trained a successor. Maybe he uses a forbidden jutsu that grants him eternal life?

It's a question that plagued all their minds.

Heaving an inward sigh, Itachi curbed his inner musings and voiced the question that hung thick in the air. "If I may ask, Hokage-sama, what has this got to do with me?"

Minato stifled a smirk. Itachi had always been a straight-forward person. He hated ambiguity, abstruse situations, and cryptic talk. It might be why he is exceptionally skilled at deciphering coded messages and unravelling the unknown. His perception indeed knows no bounds, making him the perfect candidate for this particular mission.

"You are aware several ANBU officers along with the special Jonin in the intel division are tasked with uncovering Kuro no Senshi's identity and his motives."

It was more of a statement than an inquiry, but Itachi still inclined his head once in an affirmative gesture. Being an ANBU Captain gave him the authorization of being privy to a lot of Konoha's secrets, which meant he also knew that the case of nameless, faceless Kuro no Senshi continued to stump one ANBU officer to the next. No one has managed to figure out even the slightest detail about the man, not his birthplace, his alliance or even his eye colour.

The man was too good at covering his tracks and enshrouding himself in mystery.

"The current team in charge of this investigation has hit a wall, so the case has been at a standstill for a couple of months now. The council is getting impatient." Minato leaned forwards again, resting his weight on his forearms that laid at rest on the table. Itachi stood a little straighter, finally getting an inkling as to why they were having this discussion. "I'm assigning you to this case Itachi. I know it's not the usual type of mission you are given, but I believe you can handle it."

Being one of the very few people Itachi admired, Minato's faith in his abilities humbled him, and he felt the need to live up to the man's expectations. "Yes, Hokage-sama."

"And it seems you already have your lead," Minato informs him, a slight grin gracing his face.

The Hokage's comment creased the skin on Itachi's forehead in confusion. What does he— Of course, he should have pieced it together sooner. Why hadn't he? It was staring him straight in the face.

"I will put my best effort into solving the case, Hokage-sama."

"I wouldn't expect any less."

Bowing respectfully to his leader, Itachi turned on heels. As he headed out the door, his mind whirled with thoughts of his failed mission and of his newly assigned task. They weren't two separate incidents as he had initially thought them to be. In fact, they might be more interlinked that he suspected.

It seems he has finally crossed paths with the elusive Kuro no Senshi.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The harmonious chirrups of cicadas pierced through the clamour of the busy market street.

The vendors of the fresh produce stalls bargained with their customers. Old man Kenta of the fruit stand was trying but failing to coax a newlywed wife to buy his overpriced goods. Standing in front the booth beside them, an older, more experienced woman shook her head in a mix of disappointment and amusement before walking over to lend the younger lady a hand. Kenta was a stubborn old coot after all.

Exuberant children playing catch ran between the legs of the adults strolling down the street, stepping over puddles, dirtying their clothes as their contagious laughter echoed in the ears of their mothers who yelled at them, warning them to not get lost in the crowd. The dry breeze carried the tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread, cakes, and deep-fried appetizers. The aroma of spices used to make cold noodles, and tea tickled past the noses of potential customers, tempting their growling stomachs.

It had rained, again, the night prior and petrichor lingered in the air, enveloping the lively village with its sweet comfort despite the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon them.

Summer has finally arrived.

Uchiha Itachi sat atop one of the wider wooden electric posts nearby, one leg tucked beneath him, the other hanging languidly down the side of the pole. Twirling a shuriken between his fingers, he scanned the village below him. Even though his position put him directly under the fiery gaze of the sun, it still gave him an expansive view of the ever-bustling, congested market streets. It was the ideal spot to be when scouring for someone specific.

And Itachi was scouring for someone specific; a person he hasn't seen in a while.

After the meeting with the Hokage, he had directly gone home to grab a change of clothes as well as some of his mother's grilled onigiri to temporarily placate his hunger. Having nothing else that required his immediate attention, Itachi had eagerly come here in hopes of stealing a glance at the person who unknowingly pilfered his curiosity.

A glimpse of green, a flash of pink. At the sight of her, Itachi felt the corner of his lips tug into a smile.

She was facing his direction, her long, pink hair styled into a braid, swinging side to side behind her as she stomped past the crowd that parted in her wake. Her viridian eyes gleamed with barely repressed fury, nose scrunched in irritation, and even from this distance, Itachi could see her lips move as she muttered unseemly words that would no doubt make the elderly reprimand her.

Haruno Sakura, the one and only beloved daughter of Haruno Kizashi and Mebuki. The family of three had caused quite the scandal in the village when they had moved into a house at the village centre all those years ago.

They were the first Haruno to ever vacate the clan compound, but what was more noteworthy was that Mebuki was the eldest child of the previous Haruno head. Birthrights state her husband would inherit the position of clan patriarch through marriage, leaving Mebuki as its matriarch. But her sudden departure from the compound prevented that from happening. It raised a lot of questions that the village gossip vine had eagerly seized and magnified to extremes.

To this day, these questions remained unanswered.

And Haruno Sakura… she was a hefty load of riddles all on her own.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The first time they met, she was twelve, and he was seventeen.

Sakura was but a wisp of a girl who was barely at the age where she should be back talking to an adult, but there she was in all her glory, lips curled back into a sneer and hands on her jutted hips as she argued with the owner of the masks store. His own little brother and the Hokage's son was standing on either side of her. Naruto looked panicked as he desperately attempted to calm the riled girl while Sasuke had a permanent scowl etched on his face, unabashedly glaring at the man who was stupid enough to argue with a child.

Itachi had been perceptive enough to guess the two members of the newly assigned Team 7 had most likely been on another pranking rampage, but he couldn't figure out how the pink haired spitfire fitted into the equation. Heads turned, and the two who were arguing fell silent at his approach.

He addressed the older man, inclining his head politely in greeting. "I apologize for any trouble these three have caused. Please, send the bill for any damages to the Uchiha head, and you will be compensated generously."

"But Aniki—"

"Sasuke, you are causing a scene." Itachi made sure his voice was low enough so only those within his immediate area could hear him. "Now, apologize for your behaviour."

His admonishing caused Sasuke to grit his teeth. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl scan their surrounding. When the implications of the gathering crowd and their fervent whispering finally dawned on her, she had the decency to look embarrassed. He could understand, though. The society they lived in looked pass any misdemeanours of young boys, excusing their deplorable actions as a result of them being, well, boys.

On the other hand, girls did not have the privilege of the same treatment. A slip of their tongue, an act deemed improper, a strand of hair out place, and they would be scrutinised, condemned and reprimanded.

She took the initiative to seek forgiveness, bowing deeply at her waist, her pink locks raining down her shoulders to curtain her reddening cheeks. Sasuke and Naruto soon followed her lead despite their apparent reluctance. "Forgive me Takeshi-san, I was out of line. It was highly disrespectful of me to have argued with an adult."

The man only grunted in response.

It took Itachi aback when the girl suddenly turned to him only to bow once more. "I apologize for inconveniencing you as well Uchiha-san."

And with that, she spun on her heels, sauntering away with what dignity she had left, her chin held high and her shoulders straight. Itachi commended her maturity in handling the aftermath of her actions. It was something his brother and his teammate could afford to learn

Later that same day, as they sat at the dinner table, he let curiosity get the best of him. He asked his brother, "Why was she arguing with Takeshi-san?"

Sasuke blinked up at him for a moment before replying, "because Takeshi-san insulted Naruto."

His brother's answer made him think, mayhaps she didn't leave a favourable first impression, but she might be a better person than he had first deemed her to be.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The second time they met, she was thirteen, and he was eighteen.

Itachi honestly did not expect to meet the audacious pink-haired girl once more, but he did anyway, and it was only a handful of months after their first encounter. Like the last time, he was out on a hunt for his brother at his mother's request when he chanced upon her walking out of Ichiraku Ramen.

It wasn't uncommon to see girls of civilian descent who worked for a living to be a little untidy, but it was a sight to behold when a lady affiliated to a clan runs around with dirt smeared on her cheeks and her hair in disarray. His sharp eyes even noticed the smudges of mud on the hem of her silk kimono. Judging by the embroidered white circles lining the length of her sleeves, she hailed from the reclusive Haruno clan.

He could already see the disapproving looks she was receiving. He was sure she did too. Instead of feeling ashamed or attempting to straighten out her outfit and hair like every other girl he knew, she stood proudly as if she couldn't care less about what the rest of world had to say.

Itachi could applaud her courage to disregard societal expectations and overlook judgements, but it also minutely raised his concern. For how long can she persist to defy the norm before she crumbles under the pressure of society? Even if she doesn't, surely they would force her to surrender.

The pink haired minx seemed surprised to see him, stumbling backwards before she steadied herself on her geta. She clasped her hands in front of her, bowing in greeting. "Hello Uchiha-san, it's been a while. Have you been well?"

"Hello," Itachi racked his brain for her name, but when he realised he never learnt it. It would also be rude if he were to address her as Haruno-san based on mere assumptions, so he settled for a generic response. "I've been well. And you?"

Her smile, he noted, brightened up her eyes. The captivating sight compelled his gaze to linger longer than what could have been proper. He was relieved when she didn't seem to detect it, or perhaps she chose to ignore it. "I'm doing fine Uchiha-san. You must be looking for Sasuke. He's inside, still eating."

Not knowing what to say, Itachi only nodded. Having detected his brother's chakra, he was already aware of it.

"Pardon me, but I have to leave now. There are some errands I have to run for my mother." With another bow and a brief wave, the girl spun on her heels, traipsing off before he could respond. She seemed to do that a lot, Itachi thought wryly, bowing then walking away.

Unwittingly, he continued to watch her receding figure against his better judgement. His brows knotted when he noticed the almost imperceptible limp on her right foot. It would have sneaked past the attention of most since she was trying her best to hide it, but he noticed, and it troubled him.

Just what exactly had she been doing?

Shaking away thoughts of the girl, he was about to head into the ramen stand to search for his brother when the dark-haired, temperamental teen exited the shop. "Otouto."

"Aniki," Sasuke acknowledged his presence with a nod.

In the act of silent agreement, the two trekked side-by-side as they headed home. After minutes of contemplating, it was Itachi who broke the comfortable silence they had enveloped themselves in. "Who is she?"

He knew he didn't need to elaborate. Sasuke was smart enough to know who he was talking about. "Sakura. You've met her before, a few months ago."

"Ah," So he finally learns her name; Haruno Sakura. It wasn't a particularly astounding name but coupled with her hair, her parents had made sure she would be unforgettable. He was just glad he no longer had to keep referring her as the 'the pink haired girl.' It's been long overdue. "Is she your friend?"

Sasuke grunted. "I guess you can say that."

Prompted by his older brother's questioning gaze, Sasuke went into more detail. "She's the typical lady obsessing over their clothes and hair and fawning over every male they deem attractive, but, at least, she isn't afraid to speak her mind. She doesn't whine about getting a little messed up. Plus, she knows how to have fun."

Itachi thinks his little brother doesn't entirely realise how contradictory what he had just said was. No 'proper lady' would dare be seen in public in a less than perfect state let alone speak her mind. Not if their suppressive culture had any say in it.

Idly, Itachi wondered if her knowing how to have fun meant she lent a hand to Team 7's juvenile pranks.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

At their third encounter, he was twenty-one, and she was sixteen; an age where she was too old to be considered a child, yet still too young to be called a woman.

Over the past handful of years, he had caught glimpses of her around the village, but they were fleeting and far in between. It didn't prepare him for the astonishment that struck him when he saw her emerge from one of the operating rooms of Konoha Hospital wearing blue scrubs and latex gloves, both startlingly stained with blood. Her distinctive hair was tucked beneath a surgical cap, and a mask hid most of her face, but those eyes that rivalled the colour of the first spring leaves readily gave her identity away.

Her presence shocked him even more than the alert he received earlier about Team 7 being ambushed, leading both Naruto and his brother to require immediate medical attention.

She peeled away her gloves, dumping it in a metallic bin then proceeded to wash and disinfect her hands on the sink. The automatic doors of the operating theatre slid open, and she turned to face the man who walked out wearing the same attire she did.

"Haruno, come with me to brief their families about—" the man halted when he noticed Itachi. He pulled down his mask, revealing the frown lining his lips. "What are you doing here?"

It was only then Itachi remembered where he was. In the midst of his restlessness, he had entered the personnel-only scrub area despite the protests from several nurses. Standing there now, he can't recall what compelled him to do so or even what he had hoped to achieve by it.

"Uchiha-san," her gentle, lilting voice had him shifting to face her. She too had tugged down the mask below her chin. "Why don't we head over to your parents so you can be briefed altogether. Would that be satisfactory, Hiroshi-san?"

The dark-haired man and Sakura shared a look, seemingly having a silent conversation he wasn't a part of. When the man, Hiroshi, nodded his consent, Sakura's lips tilted a fraction before allowing Hiroshi to lead the way to the waiting area where the rest of his family, the Yondaime and his wife, lingered in bathed silence.

If he hadn't been observing her as intensely as he did, Itachi would have missed how her back straightened or how she tore off the mask, hastily tucking it into her pants pocket. Her fingers smoothed out the front of her scrub. The way she greeted and bowed before the elders appeared more graceful, controlled.

Itachi took his place next to his mother, facing the two medics as they took turns to explain the surgical procedure and their diagnosis of Team 7's current health. As soon as he deduced his brother was alive and stable, Itachi redirected the spotlight to the pink haired girl—woman, young lady— instead of the conversation between the adults.

Her hands were clasped in front of her, her feet together as she stood with perfect posture. She didn't fidget or shift attention, depicting a refined lady despite the blood-stained clothes and weariness lining her eyes. There were no traces of the spitfire who didn't think twice about squabbling with an adult or the confident girl who walked through a crowded street looking no less than a bedraggled mess, returning the disapproving looks she received with apathy. No, right at this moment stood a young woman who had been taught all her life to be no less than perfect in her appearance, demeanour, and attitude.

Itachi thinks he would have been fooled if her presence in the hospital as medic did not reiterate her rebellious streak.

So this was what she had been up to during the last couple of years. She followed the footsteps of the rest of the women who despised their restrictive society; she became a medic, the only profession requiring the use of chakra that women were allowed to enter. Itachi didn't know the exact mechanics, but women had an unrivalled ability to control chakra precisely, beyond the level men were able. It was a fact Senju Tsunade fought tooth and nail to prove, so women were, at the minimum, given the opportunity to learn medical ninjutsu.

What did Sakura's parents think of it? Her clan? Surely they met her desire to learn medical jutsu with disapproval? They must have objected, prohibiting her from going anywhere near the hospital.

One thing was for certain, however. Sakura stirred in him an intense desire to understand her, unravel all her secrets until they were laid bare before him. It was irrational, unreasonable, _absurd_ , but Itachi decided he didn't care. He was only interested in figuring who was the real Haruno Sakura; was she the girl who sassed a store owner in public or was she this docile lady who stuck within the boundary society had set for her?

From that day forth, whenever he had time to spare, Itachi found himself in the shadows, casually observing how her behaviour changed with each interaction.

Most of the time, she proved his speculations wrong. She wasn't full of sass nor was she particularly mutinous. She practised her household skills to hone them, attended tea ceremonies if not hosting one herself. Like every other woman residing in the Fire country, she gossiped about the eligible bachelors of Konoha. She visited the market often, went on walks around the village with her friends and wasted away the rest of her day when she wasn't working at the hospital. It made Itachi realise just how monotonous the life women lived was, making him question, not for the first time, why they weren't given equal privileges.

Sakura was normal. She _appeared_ normal.

But there were moments her impeccable façade slipped. The moment she has to deal with a problematic patient at the hospital or whenever she hears a sexist remark about women, she would throw away bedside manners, cast aside the etiquettes drilled into her even before she learnt to walk and contest them with her own crude opinion. Intermittently, although subtly, she retaliates through physical means, like that one time she threw an apple across the street towards a drunk shinobi who kept yanking a protesting girl towards him.

He only managed to notice it because he was already observing her. To everyone else out that night, the apple materialised out of thin air. It surprised him, though, when she hit her target. Maybe it was a lucky shot or maybe not, but the secure way she aimed rang with familiarity if not training.

Now, at the age of twenty-three, and she nineteen, Itachi sat atop the electric post, watching her manoeuvre around the crowd, thinking of how three years of continuously monitoring her did nothing to satiate his curiosity nor did it curtail his interest. If anything else, it served to paint Haruno Sakura into a more perplexing mystery he desperately wanted to solve.

"Really, little cousin, I will never understand why you don't just approach her and attempt an actual conversation. You know, instead of being a creep."

Shisui had a tendency to abuse the use of his shunshin technique. It prompted Itachi to quickly adapt his senses to the older Uchiha's spontaneous arrivals and equally abrupt departures. It no longer took him off-guard, so he spared his cousin no glance.

Sakura stopped moving. Standing in the middle of the street, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. One second. Two seconds. Three. Her fisted hands uncurled, the rigidity of her posture relaxed. When she opened her eyes once more, all traces of her previous anger was gone, replaced by a polite smile.

It was something she often did, taking deep breaths in hopes of dousing her temper. He wonders what incited her rage this time.

Itachi quipped, "You're right, you wouldn't understand."

People, in general, were less self-conscious behind closed doors. Out of sight of hypercritical eyes, they peel off the pretences, do away with the sugar-coated words. They relax, knowing only the shadows remain to witness them reveal their inner identity. And that was what Itachi wanted. He aimed to figure out the real her. Admittedly, at first, he chose to observe her from afar because the easier, less problematic option without him being dubbed a troublesome pest. But he also knew if he spoke to her, she would have been guarded. Cautious even. She would be Haruno Sakura, the lady society moulded her to be, not Haruno Sakura, the girl with a slick attitude he finds intriguing.

"Maybe you'd like her a lot better if you spoke to her Itachi," Shisui suggested, "so you could _ask_ her things instead of trying to figure it out on your own."

Sakura soon disappeared into a shop, cutting off his view of her. A tad disappointed, Itachi turned to the older Uchiha, who stood with his arms crossed on the roof nearest to the electric post he sat on. "I doubt she'd be vocal about her hatred towards our bigoted society."

"True, but if you let your opinions be known, perhaps she would be more open."

"Informing her of my opinions wouldn't change the fact that she would be condemned by others for merely agreeing."

"But no one needs to know, little cousin."

Itachi sighed. Sometimes he wondered if Shisui pretended to be dense simply for the kicks or if he truly was obtuse. "I meant that she still wouldn't voice her say because she'd be afraid of the repercussions if she did."

Shisui regarded him with a look that he couldn't quite decipher. "Itachi, she's not a person who worries over such repercussions. If she were, you wouldn't have been observing her for the past three years."

"Perhaps."

"What, that's all you have to say?" His only response was a cocked brow. Shisui grunted in return. "You're sure about your decision?" The young ANBU Captain was quick enough to realise they were no longer on the topic of Sakura. At least not directly. "Marriage is an entirely different issue, Itachi."

"I am aware," he replied, hoping to placate his cousin's unfounded worries, "I'm not going into this blindly, Shisui. I've taken the needs of our clan as well as my own feelings into account before coming to this decision. Besides, nothing has been finalised just yet. We'll see how things turn out."

Heaving a weary sigh, Shisui shrugged his shoulders. "I really hope you know what you're doing. But enough of that. Your father is looking for you. It sounds like the elders have completed the proposal."

Restoring the shuriken into his weapons pouch in one swift motion, Itachi stood. Casting one last look at the shop Sakura had yet to emerge from, he turned towards the direction of the Uchiha compound. "Let's go."

In a flash, they were gone.

If all goes according to plan, then Itachi would see Sakura a lot more often, except this time it would no longer be from the shadows.

* * *

 **AN:-** _So, here you go. The second chapter of PH. I know it's Itachi-centric, but I swear everything mentioned in this chapter will be related to the story as a whole, including the mention of the Haruno Clan._

 _Who here pieced together that Sakura's and Itachi's mission were one and the same? Ooh and let's have a little bet (I don't know if I could really call it that). Let's see who could guess correctly about what Sakura was angry about. Even Itachi is curious ;)_

 _I hope you enjoyed it!_


	4. Chapter 3: Restless

**PORCELAIN HEART** **  
**AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3  
** Re-edited: _14 June 2017_

* * *

Note:

 **Yukata** is a kimono typically worn during summer.

 **Furisode** is a more formal type of kimono.

* * *

 _Epigraph:_

"I hate to hear you talk about all women  
as if they were fine ladies  
instead of rational creatures.  
None of us wants to be in calm waters  
all our lives."

—Jane Austen, _Persuasion_

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The night Sakura returned from her mission, she foresaw the metallic gleam of new chains and, of course, the cage for the wisp of freedom she held at the tips of her fingers.

Sakura stood in the chilling darkness, in the middle of the muted hallway, reluctantly anticipating the moment her father's chakra flares anger and the door of his room would shoot open, banging loudly against the wall as he catches her red-handed. He'd bellow her name, demanding why and where she snuck off to in the middle of the night.

But it never happened.

She dreaded an exposure that never came.

As quick as it had spiked, her father's chakra settled into a gentle trickle. She felt her muscles begin to go numb as she forced her body to remain frozen. She refused to trust her luck—was it _really_ luck?— focusing all of her senses on the smooth flow of her father's chakra. It reminded her of a river during the dry season, its cool, shallow waters moving listlessly over the pebbles that blanketed its bottom. Quiet. Peaceful.

He had fallen asleep again.

It eluded her how much longer she stood there unmoving, but the moment she managed to convince herself it was safe, she used the shunshin jutsu to transport herself to her room, unwilling to risk lingering in the open. Once the door was closed then locked twice, she stared in bathed silence at the wooden contraption feebly shielding her from discovery.

 _Dub-dub. Dub-dub._

The thrum of her heart echoed loudly in her ears. Will the knob turn? Maybe her father hovered on the other side.

Minutes passed, but everything remained still. No muffled thuds of harried footsteps, no twisting doorknobs, no threats. Relief swept past her lips in a single, ragged breath. Her rattled nerves uncoiled. Turning on her heels, Sakura cast a quick glance around her room—an action that's become a habit after every mission. She immediately spotted the huge lump beneath the sheets on her bed.

Her bunshin was asleep.

In the early days of its establishment, the first members of Kuro no Senshi created the Namami Bunshin no Jutsu, designing it to specifically cater to the needs of kunoichi. ' _Namami_ ' translated to 'flesh and blood,' referring to the literal use of blood required to activate the jutsu. Unlike the elemental cloning techniques shinobi had mastered, this jutsu doesn't simply produce corporeal clones, but rather uses the genetic codes provided by the dense, red liquid to create a living, breathing duplicate of the user. It copies their personality, abilities as well as the entirety of their memories.

It also cannot be dissipated by a strong force.

There was only one way to get rid of the namami bunshin, and that's for the kunoichi who cast the jutsu to dispel it. It was this particular trait that made it the most useful jutsu in every kunoichi's arsenal of weaponry, but instead of using it in battle, the bunshin was used to act as a substitute. The clone takes over their life, pretending to be the user whenever they are away on a mission. Being a flawless physical and mental replica, not even a spouse, parent or sibling would be able to pick a difference between the real person and the clone.

It was the perfect decoy, allowing kunoichi the leeway to leave for extended periods of time without the worry of their absence being noticed hanging in the back of their minds.

The Namami Bunshin no Jutsu was the crucial factor that kept Kuro no Senshi hidden within the depths of shadows for decades. Without it, kunoichi would have garnered attention each time they go missing. Questions about their whereabouts would have been raised, eventually leading to the exposure of the organisation.

If it weren't a fundamental tool, the jutsu would be listed under the forbidden S-rank techniques. It puts the user at constant risk of chakra exhaustion, drawing extreme volumes of chakra continually throughout the time it is active to maintain its form. Moreover, like a restless spirit chained to its regrets, the clone and user are linked, leaving the kunoichi vulnerable to receiving and feeling any injury the clone reaps.

Silently approaching the slumbering lump on her bed, Sakura halted when her knees bumped into the wooden frame. Pulling the covers away from the clone's face, she placed the palm of one hand on its forehead, raising the other to her chest level. Her index and middle finger remained upright while the rest folded towards her palm. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Kai."

The faint pungent of smoke invaded her nose as the clone popped out of existence. Not a moment too soon after, her mind was a whirlwind of blurred colours, fragmented images, and snippets of conversations as its memories were pirated as her own. Happiness, dejection, anger, annoyance, laughter, worry, determination, joy. From the first to the last, she felt each emotion her clone experienced throughout the entire week in mere seconds, the quick transition from one feeling to another leaving her overwhelmed and minutely confused.

Once her thoughts turned blank, Sakura sighed in relief. She'll never get used to the unpleasantness of dispelling the namami bunshin.

Too exhausted to bother changing out of her yukata, the pink haired medic let herself fall lazily onto the soft mattress, burrowing her face in the comfort of her pillow.

It was pure heaven.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Aggravation.

It was the putrid feeling that rattled in the depths of the heated blood in her veins.

Huffing indignantly, Haruno Sakura stomped straight through the crowd, uncaring of those she bumped into or whose feet she stepped upon. The cloth of her yukata constricted her sharp movements, making each long stride awkward and discomforting. Any other day, it would have annoyed her further if a malicious part of her wasn't delighted by the sight of the villagers scrambling out of her path like pesky ants sprayed with water. She preferred it when they left her alone, or better yet, feared her, instead of pointing their hypocritical fingers at her.

And they _were_ hypocrites, the lot of them. Especially the younger, clan affiliated women who slander her behind their pompous fans, chiding her behaviour, devaluing her as a woman— _as a person_.

 _Scoff._

They could not make sense of her, and humans naturally hate what they do not understand.

To them, she was the personification of a paradox; a high-born lady with all the right connections and excellent upbringing—flawless if not for her pursuit of a career as a medic. Worse yet, a medic in the shinobi factor instead of the civilian. She wrought confusion, for how could a woman of high social standing work in a field governed by rebellious women?

Tradition dictates she shouldn't be working in the first place. A career is a distraction. It takes away time a lady would otherwise spend refining her household skills, entertaining her husband or attending to her family and children's needs.

"They can shove their traditions where the sun doesn't shine," Sakura mumbled contemptuously, "Entertain a husband my foot. I would sooner expose Kuro no Senshi than chain myself in marriage to a chauvinistic pig."

Her train of thought redirected to the source of her ire; her father.

For the short duration that Sakura has been home, his behaviour had been so odd, it was borderline suspicious. On the day she returned, she woke up nearly past noon, and when she entered the kitchen to scavenge for a late breakfast, her father had been sitting at the table, a newspaper hiding his face. He responded to her greeting with an unwarranted lecture.

"You should start waking up early, Sakura-chan. Being lazy is not very charming."

Sakura was too shocked over the strange comment to bristle in irritation. She simply, albeit not truthfully, assured him it won't happen again. It wasn't like she could grumble about having a long night assassinating an entire black market organization, _so forgive her for taking a much-needed rest._

If the issue had ended there, she would have let it pass, but it didn't.

It was only the beginning.

His criticisms were mild, but they ranged from chiding the most mundane habits up to her appearance. He nitpicked at her keeping her hair loose, claiming a wild, bed-hair wasn't a flattering look. He _advised_ her to wear more tasteful kimono, ones which were brightly coloured and intricately embroidered because didn't clothes show off a woman's worth? The salt in the wounds was when he questioned her if she finds it necessary to continue working as a medic.

 _That_ was this morning.

 _That_ was the final straw.

Unable to contain the anger bursting at its seams, Sakura stormed out of her house with an indignant proclamation that no, she does not find her job unnecessary. No, she most definitely isn't quitting. The resounding slam of the front door and rattling of wood appeased her, however scantly. She knows it was obscene of her, but it was preferable over disrespecting her father by raising her voice to argue with him about her profession.

Now, as she brisked through the market street, she can't help but puzzle over what has gotten to her father. In all her years growing up, Kizashi had never once hassled her about the way she dressed or the way she acted, even when she came home with mud stains on her clothes and blistering wounds on her skin. The time she informed her parents about her decision to study medical jutsu, her mother had protested, raising concerns at how inappropriate it was for a woman, but her father didn't bat a lash, shrugging it off as if it weren't an outrageous idea.

So what changed?

Between the evening she snuck off for the mission and the morning she returned, Sakura couldn't conceive of a reason drastic enough to induce a complete one-eighty turn in her father's views. Haruno Kizashi had always been the easy-going, witty parent whereas her mother was the epitome of strict and composed. Up until today, Sakura could have never imagined her father as alike as the rest the men with a distorted outlook on what a woman should be.

It was upsetting. It was frustrating. It was disappointing, and Sakura knew neither what to do nor what to expect next. Her father was her silent supporter, the neutral bystander to her not-quite-subtle defiance of their prejudicial society. At least she thought he was. She wasn't entirely sure anymore. Just the thought of the past few days sent scorching heat rushing through her veins. Her hands fisted, knuckles turning white.

She halted abruptly, idly aware she was garnering unsolicited attention. Closing her eyes, she chanted, "Patience, Sakura. Keep calm and be patient," repeatedly in her head until she felt the sharp vices of anger come loose. The paralysing emotion was addictive, but it wouldn't solve any of her problems.

She focused on the warmth of the sun on her skin, on the various tantalising scents diffusing with the slow wind, on the murmur of voices and echoing laughter. It was a needed solace after almost a week of enduring her father's atypical commentary.

It was then she felt it. She must have been too preoccupied earlier, but it was apparent now. Sakura chided herself for not noticing it sooner.

She was being watched.

Again.

Even within the privacy of her own head, it sounded utterly ridiculous. She was standing in the midst of a crowded street she stomped through with unconcealed animosity. People were definitely watching. Their selective attention would cling onto the lunatic on the loose.

It was foolish. It was absurd. It was nothing but a bizarre notion conjectured by her high-strung instincts, but these instincts saved her life more times than she could count. She trusted it blindly. S _he just knew_ there was a pair of eyes following her every move.

Or was it two?

Sakura was sixteen when she first felt the nerve-racking sensation. It was so subtle, so … so inconspicuous, she didn't pay it mind, stacking it up to curious bystanders. But goosebumps arose, and the hair on the nape of her neck stood on end as anxiety lurked on the surface of her awareness. Kunoichi training made her hypersensitive to her surroundings, and she couldn't have been more grateful.

She doesn't know who it was or what they wanted, but it wasn't for lack of trying. Sakura tried to catch the culprit on several occasions, laying traps to shake them off her trail, but the bastards were elusive. Or perhaps there really wasn't anyone there.

As it was, Sakura couldn't even confidently convince herself that someone was observing her, let alone pinpoint from where they keep an eye on her because that was the downside of intuition. It was vague. Ambiguous. Hell, she kept reffing to the person as 'they' since their gender was indecipherable.

Was there more than one person?

Sakura doesn't know, but one thing was clear. Whoever they were, they were smart. The times she felt her skin prickle with the unsettling sensation of having foreign eyes scrutinising her movements, she was always in the throes of a crowd, surrounded by too many people for her to distinguish them.

Sakura would applaud them if they didn't creep her out.

Taking a deep breath, she let her tense muscle relax, plastering a smile faker than Ebisu's honour for women. Her stalker was watching after all. She needed to give them a good show.

Catching sight of her favourite store, she decided she might as well spend her time productively rather than loiter out in the open where she would be unnecessarily exposed. If there was one thing Sakura hated more than bigotry, it was letting herself become vulnerable.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

A bell tinkered overhead when she pushed the shop door open. Instantaneously, a profusion of piquant scents invaded her nose, and Sakura's lips tilted at its pleasantness. It was a mixture of aroma varying from sweet and savoury to woodsy and citrusy. With effortless ease, she identified the distinct smell of lavender and ginger and sandalwood and eucalyptus—even cinnamon!

To a medic who finds benign joy in concocting remedies and poisons alike, the specialist herbs store in Konoha was unparalleled paradise. Sakura could easily lose herself in the tranquillity of the shop, scavenging through every aisle and darkened corner, acquainting herself with each plant, educating herself in both their medicinal properties and customary use.

Tucked in between two buildings, this deceptively tiny store was her own special place.

Her safe haven.

"Ah, Sakura-chan!" the soulful voice drew the medic's attention away from her musings towards the old lady who was watering a pot of bamboos. She stood tall, slim with a straight back. Her dark hair, tied into a neat bun, was peppered with grey. Despite the wrinkles lining her face and the plain, yellow yukata with a red obi she wore, she was evidently beautiful. It was emphasised by the refined way she carried herself. "You're back again?"

A fleeting memory of her bunshin visiting the shop sprang into her mind. Sakura grinned as she approached the owner. "Meisa-san, you know I cannot resist seeing your charming self for too long."

The old lady threw her head backward, laughing without constraint at the younger girl's shameless flattery. "Oh child, you are bad for my ego, even though we both know you're only here for these herbs of mine."

"Well, you do have an exquisite collection."

"Of course. They are my pride and joy."

"Do you have anything new for me?" Sakura asked eagerly.

Meisa set aside the watering can before shaking her head. "I'm afraid not, child. Nothing new since the last time you came here."

Sakura sighed dejectedly. Meisa had an impressive array of connections to merchants from across the five great nations and every other village in between. It enabled her to procure several herbs not native to the Fire Country. From time to time, she even manages to get a hold of rare or seasonal plants during offseason; Meisa called it talent, but Sakura personally believes it to be a work of pure magic.

Sakura made it a point to study each one of these plants, convincing herself it would be useful someday, whether as a poison or an antidote. Too bad there weren't any new arrivals today. She had been hoping to armour herself with more knowledge.

"You're free to roam the place as usual, though."

"Thank you." Inclining her head in respect, Sakura sauntered to the section unilluminated by artificial light where the sun-shy herbs thrived. Those had always oddly intrigued her. The herbs didn't conform to the nature of its kind, gravitating away from the sun rather than towards its warmth. It made her feel an odd sense of connection. A sort of kindred spirit.

 _Ting-a-ling-ling._

The moment her fingers touched the snaking vines of a plant growing in a pot hanging from the ceiling, the bell above the door jingled again, signalling the arrival of another customer. Sakura craned her neck in time see a girl wearing a luxurious purple kimono enter.

"Good afternoon, Meisa-san," the raven-haired girl strode up to the owner and bowed politely, "Is my order ready yet?"

Hyuuga Hinata, heiress to one of Konoha's most prestigious clans and another disguised member of Kuro no Senshi. Sakura doesn't know how her friend gets away with it when she has a guard keeping track of her twenty-four-seven for her safety. She was next in line as the head of her clan, after all. But then again, her title as an heiress was just that, a title. In truth, it would be Hinata's husband who would inherit the position whereas she would be left with the barren, fancy label of ' lady of the house.' A label which gives Hinata neither power nor relative use other than to sit beside her husband looking pretty.

Sakura sympathised with her. Never has she been more thankful her mother chose to sever ties with the Haruno clan. In doing so, her shoulders did not droop with the weight of the burdening duties of a female heir.

Meisa rounded the counter, grabbing a brimming bag from under and passed it over to Hinata. "All the ingredients you requested are in here."

"Are you making another batch of your balm?" Sakura asked as she approached them, minutely startling the heiress. Hinata smiled welcomingly nevertheless.

"Sakura-san, it's been awhile," she greeted as she handed the payment to Meisa, "and yes, I am. There's not much else I could do these days."

 _Of course not,_ Sakura thought to herself, _not when you're a newlywed._ Unsure of what else to say, she sent Hinata a look of understanding, watching as she checked the contents of the bag.

Hinata asked, "How did the mission go?"

"Oh, you had a mission recently?" Both girls turned to the older lady.

Meisa rested her weight on her elbows as she leant across the counter, eyeing them curiously. The store owner had been a member of Kuro no Senshi back in her youth. It was during her active years she amassed her endless connections throughout the shinobi nations. Meisa deemed it worthwhile to befriend every person she came into contact during her mission travels, from clients to random passersby.

Sakura especially loved hearing the story of how Meisa tried to charm the pants off of this one trader but failed epically. He was now her husband.

It was around the time Sakura had just begun training with Tsunade that she discovered Meisa's herb store. She fell in love with its quaint interior on her first visit, and by her fifth, the old lady had caught Sakura unawares by casually asking her if she was a kunoichi. Meisa made it sound like being a kunoichi was a common occurrence instead of an illegal profession. It frightened Sakura, throwing her into a panic as she desperately searched for a way out. But Meisa calmed her down, explaining she was once a member too.

When Sakura asked her how she guessed her affiliation to the organisation, Meisa pointed out, "Oh child, only a lady who is constricted by the cage our society had set for us would be visiting my shop to study poisonous herbs."

Her last few words further shocked the pink haired medic, and she squeaked. Meisa had laughed, realising the girl was surprised she also knew why she was frequenting the little abode. She told the then fourteen-year-old a word of wisdom she carried with her to this day.

"A kunoichi should always be one step ahead of not only her enemies but also her allies. It's the only way we will survive."

Sakura had no qualms about discussing the latest affairs of Kuro no Senshi with one of its retired members. "Yes, we were sent to take care of a child trafficking issue at the borders."

"And how'd it go?" Meisa inquired.

"It went without a hitch. The children are now at the Hagihara Child Protection Centre." The older lady nodded approvingly.

For a brief moment, Sakura realised it has almost been a week since the mission was completed. Any day now, the Hokage would be notified of the children's whereabouts. Tsunade decided Kuro no Senshi would be better off allowing Konoha to take credit of returning the children to their rightful homes rather than inciting the council's rage by doing it themselves. It would save kunoichi from unnecessary encounters with ANBU trackers.

Hinata tugged up the sleeve of her kimono, adjusting her hold on the bag, "I'm glad, but I wish I had been able to go with you."

"Already sick of the married life, my dear?" Meisa joked, "It hasn't even been a month."

"No, no, that's not it," Hinata blushed, her hand waving frantically. Her quick move to dissent the suggestion made her companions laugh. "It's just… my clan hasn't stopped nagging me about having a child since then."

To say Sakura was horrified was an understatement. Her friend hasn't even been married long, and people were already expecting a child? It was _preposterous_.

At the age of nineteen, Hinata was still young with so much potential ahead of her. She was capable of being and deserved to be more than just a housewife. What about her aspirations in life? Her goal to be one of Kuro no Senshi's top reconnaissance specialists? Hinata may not voice it, but Sakura knew it upset her when she was promoted to Jounin level but was unable to go on any mission for months on end because of her wedding preparations and now being wed itself. A child at this point in her life would destroy her kunoichi career altogether.

"I'll be heading over to Ichiraku's after this," Hinata informed Sakura, a clear attempt at changing their topic of conversation, "would you mind joining me for a late lunch?"

Seeing as she was off duty at the hospital plus unwilling to step foot in her house, Sakura had nothing more important to do. Shrugging her shoulders, she accepted the invitation.

Waving their farewells to Meisa, they went their way.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Midway to their destination, Sakura and Hinata's small talk was disrupted by a booming voice calling out their names. A familiar voice, unmistakable even over the raucous of the villagers

The two girls glanced back, catching sight of a tuft of blond weaving through the crowd in a hurry. Finally catching up to them, the boy's hands dropped to his knees, hunched over as he tried to catch his breath.

"H-how do you move through this crowd so effortlessly?" he asked between gulps of air.

Sakura quirked her brow in amusement. "We're ladies of grace. We've been taught to do every activity without breaking a sweat."

Hinata giggled behind her hand, but the boy scoffed, clearly not finding her sarcasm amusing. Straightening himself, he hit back, "If that's so, then why are you so clumsy?"

Sakura narrowed her eyes at his audacity. He merely grinned smugly in response. Checkmate.

Shifting his attention, he reached for Hinata, his arm encircling her shoulder as he dropped a kiss on her forehead. "How was your day?"

Uzumaki Naruto, son of the Rokudaime Hokage, self-entitled future Hokage and, of course, Hinata's husband. The annoying pest has been Sakura's close friend since their academy days, their friendship developing after Sakura recognised him as the cheeky kid who ran past her on the way to the academy on the first day. She could never misplace that blond hair, after all. In self-righteous anger, little Sakura stomped towards the swing where he was playing with his friends and rightfully accused him of almost tripping her. Pointing her dainty finger at him, she demanded an apology.

Needless to say, little Naruto, obnoxious, impulsive and competitive, didn't take it too well.

A verbal fight ensued.

But heated words were quick to escalate into a physical brawl. Even so, before Sakura could permanently disfigure his loathsome, pretty face, the academy instructors intervened. Sakura had gotten into a load of trouble for instigating the fight, but it was the defining moment that gained her Uzumaki Naruto _and_ Uchiha Sasuke's respect.

She never did regret 'not acting like a lady' that day.

"It's been good, Naruto-kun," Hinata replied, holding up the bag from the herb store to show him, "I just went out to collect my order from Meisa-san."

Naruto bent his neck to peep at the contents. "Oh, are you making more of that balm?" At her nod, he grinned cheekily "I could always use more of it."

"Naruto-kun," Hinata admonished with a sigh, "if you didn't get injured as often, I wouldn't need to make it."

"I'll be more careful, Hinata. I promise."

Sakura didn't miss how Naruto never made a move to take the bag from Hinata, rather returning it back to her. Most men would have insisted on carrying the bag for her, deeming it their duty to do the supposedly heavy work. But as much of a knucklehead he could be, Naruto respected women as his equal. He would never assume a woman didn't have the strength to carry heavy objects, unlike the rest of the pigs who shared his anatomy.

It was why Sakura easily found a friend in him.

"Were you aware her clan's been nagging her for a child?"

In a whirlwind of curiosity and brash whim, the words that were floating in Sakura's mind slipped past her lips before she could fully comprehend it. Her friends' heads snapped towards her, staring in gawping surprise, yet Sakura couldn't find it in herself to be bewildered by what she said. It wasn't in her place, but she truly wanted to figure out where Naruto stood.

"I know," Naruto replied after a short pause, taking a cautious glance at Hinata. The hand laid across her shoulder tightened a fraction. "But I don't care what they want. We're too young to raise a child of our own. I'd rather wait until we are both prepared for it."

"Their… _opinions_ on the matter will only worsen until you give them what they want," Sakura pointed out.

"Hinata can handle them," Naruto huffed, the look on his face telling her he wholly believed it.

"And if she can't?"

Sakura saw his cerulean eyes turn a shade darker, an evident sign of his displeasure. "Then they'll deal with me. Besides, I want to lend a hand in raising any child we have. With the amount of missions I have now, it wouldn't be possible."

His response elicited a smile from both women. It depicted the exact shades of Naruto's feathers, and it made Sakura unbelievably proud of how much her friend had grown and matured over the years. She had no doubts he'd be a wonderful father someday.

Hinata huddled closer to Naruto. "He said his parents too waited for years before having him."

"That's right! If my parents can do it, then so can we, dattebayo!"

Sakura watched her companions drift off into a world of their own, and she couldn't help but think Hinata was lucky her father hadn't opposed Naruto's proposal. She got to marry someone she actually loved. As much as Sakura wanted to remain in denial, she knew her own clock was ticking. She could only hope for her future spouse to have even half of the affection her friends had for each other. If he doesn't, then the least he could do was respect her.

But if Sakura could have her way, she would never marry.

Naruto turned, directing a question at her. "So, where were you two headed anyways?"

"To Ichiraku's for a late lunch."

The blond visibly perked up. "Alright! Let's go, I'm starving so much my stomach is tearing itself up."

Just when Sakura was about to jibe at his addiction to the broth and noodles, a passing commentary caused Sakura to stiffen. Two women strolled passed them, whispering their snide remarks behind their hands as if it would hide their venomous words. "That's her, the one who brings shame to the Haruno name."

"Oh my, how despicable. She should be searching for a husband instead of wasting her time playing nurse."

It was a well-rumoured fact that Haruno Sakura had never attended an omiai despite that she was beyond the appropriate age for it. Her father showed neither interest nor resolve in acquiring a husband for her, causing the rumours to sprout, spreading throughout Konoha faster than wildfire.

The villagers claimed she was too rowdy, too stubborn, with no ounce of elegance in her bones. She had the manners of untamed animals and the grace of a slithering labelled her as an embarrassment, a disappointment to her family. According to well-wishers, her profession as a shinobi medic was reason enough for her father to avoid sending her to an omiai, because what kind of man would take notice of a woman who associates with a rebellious faction let alone consider marrying her?

 _What a waste of such a pretty face._

"Sakura-san," Hinata called out. The sympathy in her voice rung clear, but Sakura didn't think it was necessary.

Sakura had long learnt to disregard the false assumptions people around her have concocted. Despite his odd behaviour over the past few days, she knew her father was very much fond of her. Kizashi was quite reluctant to let her go even if her mother had made it her personal mission to get her wedded into a respectable family. Preferably an acclaimed clan.

Besides, being unwed gave her the freedom to pursue a career as both a medic and a kunoichi.

Clapping her hands once, Sakura let the comments roll off her shoulders, unwilling to ruin her day agonising over instances beyond her control. "Right!" she chirped, "let's get us some ramen."

"Now you're talking, Sakura-chan," Naruto exclaimed, equally upbeat.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

"I'm home."

Sakura used the toes of her feet to tug off her sandals. Knowing her mother would burst a vein if she left her belongings laying haphazardly, she bent over to pick it up then shoved it into the shoe rack beside the door.

Immediately after lunch at Ichiraku, Naruto had been called out for a short mission. Looking for some company, Hinata suggested an afternoon tea and some girl talk at the Hyuuga compound. Wanting to avoid her father a little longer, Sakura went along.

The girls sat on the engawa overlooking the gardens as Sakura updated Hinata on all that she missed during her absence from Kuro no Senshi, making sure to speak in codes in case of eavesdroppers. But when the deep shades of orange and red seeped into the sky as the sun began to set, Sakura realised she could only escape from her father and his unusual nitpicking for so long. If she knew Kizashi enough, he would worry about her whereabouts if she failed to come home before nightfall.

Now, standing in the entryway, she glanced at the empty, darkening hall, wondering why no one has responded to her yet. Last she was aware, her parents didn't have any plans for the night.

Sighing languidly, she slipped on her house slippers and padded through the hall, towards the staircase. She itched to wash away every speck of dust and worry with a warm shower then sleep off the stress weighing down her mind. As she planted her foot on the first step of the stairs, she noticed the yellowish glow of the opaque glass door leading to the kitchen. Light seeped through the crack on the side where it hasn't been shut properly.

That was strange. It wasn't like her mother to leave the lights on whenever they go out. Or perhaps they're having dinner early? She might as well go greet them if they were. If not, she should switch the lights off in case her mother nags her the next morning about responsibilities.

Sakura approached the door like an impenitent thief, stopping short when she heard a murmur of voices drift from the kitchen. Their tone was soft, and her ears strained to pick up the words exchanged, but it was too muddled for her to make sense of. There were more than two distinct voices, striking Sakura as odd.

It wasn't often they had a visitor.

Placing her palm on the cold glass, Sakura applied a little force to slide the door open. The sudden brightness blinded her momentarily, causing her to blink hastily in an attempt to regain her vision. The first person Sakura saw was her mother who stood by the stove, transferring hot water from the kettle into a china pot.

Mebuki peeked over her shoulder to check who had arrived. At the sight of her daughter, her face visibly brightened. "Ah Sakura, you're back." Replacing the kettle on the stove, she picked up the tea tray and moved towards the table, "Welcome home."

Sakura nodded in response, a little too tongue-tied at the sight of their visitor.

Her father didn't spare her a glance, sitting at one end of the six-person table, conversing with another woman who looked vaguely familiar. She appeared to be around her parents' age, if not older. Two decorative hair sticks held her hair in a firm twist. Her face was caked with a thick layer of face powder, lips painted a glaring red. In Sakura's personal opinion, it looked unflattering, like she was trying too hard. The woman also wore a blue-black silk furisode with intricate designs meant to be flamboyant, to show off her wealthy status.

 _A formal kimono, really?_ Sakura snarked in her mind _, What's the special occasion?_

"Come join us, dear," Mebuki said as she served their visitor a slice of cake and some biscuits. Pouring her husband a cup of tea, she added, "Let me introduce you to our guest."

Sakura's initial reaction was to refuse. Something in her was screaming for her to run away, to turn around and never look back. The warmth in her mother's overzealous smile struck the warning bells in her mind; she would regret stepping further into the room.

Her father was too quiet, too serious. Where were the jokes? The belly-shaking, ear-splitting, contagious laughter? Sakura parted her mouth to decline as politely as possible, but as if he could read her intentions, Kizashi threw her a sharp look. He was telling her he disapproved.

And of all people, her father's approval was what she sought the most.

Her mouth ran dry. She gulped. With profound reluctance, Sakura lifted her stiff foot. One step at a time she walked closer to the occupants of the room, and with each move forward she felt her breath grow more hollow, her heartbeat more irregular—resoundingly dull. When she clenched her fist in an attempt to gain mental composure, her palm felt surprisingly moist. The thud of her slippers against the wooden floorboards floated to her ears, sounding unusually loud. Heavy.

She let it lull her into a false sense of security.

The short walk seemed to last hours instead of the mere seconds it took for her to reach her parent's side. Taking a stand next to her mother beside where her father sat, she eyed the woman sitting pompously on the chair to the immediate left. Now that she was closer in proximity, Sakura finally took note of the little orange metal shaped into flames that hung on her hair stick as glitzy décor.

And Sakura finally remembered.

She had seen this woman several times in passing whenever she accompanied either Ino or Hinata on their way to their omiai meetings. Never had she spoken to the woman, but from the stories that circulated, her personality was strict, laced with steel, and tolerated no foolishness. She looked down her nose at superficial women—a laughable irony if you ask Sakura— reprimanded those who were undisciplined and thoroughly despises women who resist accepting their position in the social hierarchy.

She despised women like Sakura along with everything they believed in.

There was no doubt about it, though. The woman in front of her was someone Sakura never thought she'd be acquainted with, let alone encounter in her own home.

Her heartbeat halted.

"Kamiko-sama, meet my daughter, Haruno Sakura," Mebuki placed a hand on Sakura's shoulder as if to hold her down to prevent escape. Sakura thinks she didn't need to. The implication of this meeting weighed on her legs, on her tongue, and in her mind like lead mixed with cement. She couldn't move even if she wanted to. "Sakura, this is Uchiha Kamiko-sama, the Uchiha clan's matchmaker."

"It's wonderful to meet you, Kamiko-sama." Sakura bowed at her waist, grateful her voice came out steady. Feeling the unceasing quivering of her hands, she interwove her fingers in front of her, burrowing them under the flaps of her yukata to avoid it garnering scrutiny. Consciously, she straightened herself before looking directly at the woman's sharp, unforgiving eyes. "What brings you to our home?"

The matchmaker raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow, mutely portraying how stupid she thought Sakura was for not figuring it out. Sakura already knew, though. She knew it well. The sudden flip in her father's behaviour, her restlessness, the matchmaker's presence… it finally made sense to her, and it all amounted to one thing.

But could you blame a girl for clinging on to pointless hope? Could you blame her for wanting to _denydenydeny_?

For so long, she knew it was inevitable. It only was a matter of time. Sakura thought she had come to terms with it, but standing in front of the adults, she was left feeling bare and inexorably exposed. She felt like the clown who failed to grasp the joke.

"She's here as an intermediate," her father speaking up startled her, "A member of the Uchiha clan has shown interest in you."

The key to her cage turned.

Her fate was sealed.

She couldn't escape anymore.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The day of the omiai arrived too soon.

On the third morning after receiving the daunting news, an irritable Sakura found herself walking the southern village streets between her parents. The bright yellow rays have yet to completely overthrow the navy tinge of the night sky as the sun took its sweet time to ascend past the Hokage Mountain. Warmth wrestled with the fresh, cold breeze embracing the village. The musical harmony of birds twittering their songs pierced the waking silence.

Even at this early hour, Konoha was already astir. Several shops stood open, the owners bustling to clean the place and prepare for their regular patrons. Police officers patrolled the streets, patiently awaiting the morning shift to arrive so they could be relieved of duty. A handful of people who seemingly rose with the crack of dawn roamed aimlessly. These early risers were drawn towards the family of three, their necks magnetically craning in curiosity as they passed by with an undeniable air of nobility.

Sakura knew it was to be expected. It was rare for her family to be seen together in public. Occasionally, she would attend tea ceremonies hosted by other clans with her mother, and her parents would often have dinner out by themselves, but otherwise, her family has no reason to be parading in public together. What's more, they were wearing formal attires which screamed 'special occasion.'

It wouldn't take the busybodies long to deduce it was an omiai. By the time the meeting ends, Sakura is sure the news would have travelled from this end of the village to the northern side. More rumours stemming from baseless assumptions would soon follow.

Suddenly, the chirrups of the morning birds no longer sounded melodious.

Veiling her emerald eyes from the world, Sakura threw her head heavenwards, praying to every last deity she knew of. She would need all the luck, patience, and restraint she could get if she wanted to last through the day without crushing something or _someone_ beneath her fists.

"Sakura, mind your posture."

At her mother's sharp reprimand, she straightened herself, swallowing the sarcastic retort weighing on the tip of her tongue.

It was safe to assume Sakura and her mother weren't on the same wavelength. Over the past couple of days, while her father had nothing to say, her mother wouldn't stop gushing about the deities blessing their family with great fortune. Why would she? Mebuki made it no secret her goal was to marry Sakura into a prestigious clan.

And there were none more prestigious than the Uchiha.

To have one of Konoha's founding families taking an interest in her daughter as a potential wife for one of their members was an immense honour. Honour that could compel more suitors to come knocking on their door. Sakura didn't need the Yamanaka clan's kekkei genkai to know her mother was hoping it does. That way, there would be several more to choose from in case the Uchiha weren't fond of her or if she does anything to purposefully compromise the possible engagement.

Sakura couldn't decide which was worse.

As they approached the Uchiha district, Sakura easily spotted the silhouette of a woman standing by the gates. It was the matchmaker. She knew because three nights ago, it was decided amongst the adults they would meet at the entrance. It would've been pointless for Kamiko to pick them up at their house only to trail back to where she came from.

The matchmaker didn't wait for the family of three to reach her. Once she deemed they were close enough, she spun on her heels, briskly leading the way without a word of greeting.

And Sakura thought _she_ was rude. The Uchiha woman's icy exterior was even colder than winters at the Land of Lightning.

Idly, Sakura wondered if the man who took an interest in her was similar in attitude. A frown line creased her forehead as she realised she never learnt who he was. Throughout her nineteen years of existence, the only Uchiha she had ever truly associated with was Sasuke. Every now and then she'd encounter members of the clan as patients at the hospital, but it didn't account as knowing them personally, so Sakura didn't know what to expect.

If she were to go with biassed opinions and dubious gossip, then the Uchiha family would be comparable to the Hyuuga; traditionalists, bigoted and full of arrogance. But believing the village hearsay would make Sakura ignorant. She would be no better than the gossip mongers who spread them. Having been at the other end of such spite, she should know better. Uchiha Sasuke should be proof enough the rumours aren't justified. After all, a boy who can overlook prejudices could not have emerged from a family who practised suppression of women's social privileges.

Right?

Or perhaps she was hoping for too much.

Perhaps Sasuke was just different.

"We're almost there." Uchiha Kamiko's flat voice drew Sakura away from her inner monologue. Refocusing her attention ahead of her, she saw the older lady staring back at her from over her shoulder, clearly indicating to whom she was directing her words. "Prepare yourself."

Sakura didn't understand what she meant but nodded nonetheless.

Inhaling long and deep, Sakura held her breath up to the count of three then exhaled slowly, wishing the nervous flutters swirling in her stomach would dissipate with it. She was shaking. Why was she shaking? One meeting doesn't equate to the end of her freedom. One meeting doesn't mean she'll be engaged. One just means there will be several more to come, but it also gave her enough time to figure out a way to save herself.

She only needed to make sure the man and his parents don't come to like her.

Easy.

So why did the acid in her gut churn more viciously?

Smoothening the cloth of her kimono with the palm of her hands, she convinced herself she could do this. One omiai. One man. She's fought underhanded battles with shinobi outnumbering her dozen to one. This was a relaxing onsen in comparison. There was nothing to be afraid of.

"We're here."

At the matchmaker's announcement, Sakura looked up to inspect the house they stopped at. Recognition knocked all air out of her lungs, and she stumbled backwards. Panic rose like bile in her throat.

"Sakura!" she heard her mother hiss, "what are you doing?"

She glanced at her parents, wondering why they lacked even half of the surprise that overwhelmed her. But then she remembered. Omiai was arranged between parents and the matchmaker. The two candidates were always left in the dark until the time they were to meet, which, again, were determined by the adults.

Sakura struggled to contain the hysterical laughter exploding up her chest. Her mother has truly outdone herself. How many connections did she charm with bogus flattery just to get a hold of this opportunity? And her father, she could no longer afford to believe his fondness for her prevented him from sending her to omiai before this. In fact, she can't help but think he was no different from her mother. They were both lying in wait, anticipating the highest bidder.

And standing in front of the Uchiha clan leader's house, it seems they have succeeded.

* * *

 **AN: -** First off, to answer a question from a guest reviewer, **H4H.** _What would happen is the village was attacked?_

Well, I've already figured it out, but you, my lovely readers, are going to have to wait and see ;) I promise it would be worth it :D

now that the historical background has been cleared out (somewhat), next chapter is when all the fun begins. Itachi and Sakura are finally going to meet!

Tune in for it ^^


	5. Chapter 4: Omiai

**PORCELAIN HEART** **  
**AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4  
** Re-edited: _16 June 2017_

* * *

 _Epigraph:_

"You do not win

by struggling to the top of a caste system,

you win

by refusing to be trapped within one at all."

—Naomi Wolf, _The Beauty Myth_

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

"We're here."

At the matchmaker's announcement, Sakura looked up to inspect the house they stopped at. Recognition knocked all air out of her lungs, and she stumbled backwards. Panic rose like bile in her throat.

"Sakura!" she heard her mother hiss, "what are you doing?"

 _I don't know, mother_. Her fingers curled around the skirt of her kimono, crushing the embroidered silk. _What have_ you _been doing?_

Sakura lifted the thick cloth to better stabilise herself. How nice it would have been if she could lift the heavy dread compressing her chest just as effortlessly. Glancing at her parents, she wondered why they lacked even half of the surprise that overwhelmed her— but then it hit her. Omiai was arranged between parents and a matchmaker. The two candidates were mere pawns left in the dark until the time they were exhibited as festooned goods in the matrimonial market.

Mebuki has truly outdone herself. How many connections did she charm with bogus flattery just to get a hold of this opportunity? And Kizashi… Sakura could no longer afford to believe his fondness for her prevented him from sending her to an omiai before this. She wasn't that naïve. With this new development, she can't help but believe her parents were no different from one another. They were both lying in wait, anticipating her highest bidder.

And standing in front of the Uchiha clan leader's house, it seems they've succeeded.

Sakura struggled to contain the hysterical laughter exploding up her chest.

Only two possible candidates resided in the main household; Uchiha Sasuke and Uchiha Itachi. Both were renowned beyond their identities as sons of the current head of the founding family. Over the years, the infamous brothers penetrated Konoha's ranks, quickly rising up the shinobi ladder and establishing a name for themselves. Their profiles were polished by good looks, clean reputations and a wealthy title, easily ranking them on the top of the husband prospects list.

Women throughout the Fire Country made it their goal to claim one of the two Uchiha brothers—maybe even both, in some sick, twisted lover's fantasy. Some had managed to garner their attention, especially Sasuke's, but none had succeeded in coercing them to the altar.

None.

"Straighten yourself Sakura! A proper lady does not stumble, tripor fall. You should carry yourself with more grace." Mebuki's sharp reprimand doused her in cold water, reminding her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

She needed to figure a way out of this omiai, not come to terms with the preposterous predicament.

 _Swoosh._

The sudden rattle of a shoji door sliding open took Mebuki off guard, causing her to jump and yelp loudly in surprise. Sakura smothered down the temptation to snicker at the rare sight. "A proper lady does not squeal either, Okaa-san."

Her mother's responding glare only served to further feed her vindictive sense of pleasure.

"Good morning," a dulcet, evidently feminine voice greeted. Uchiha Mikoto stood by the doorway, a polite smile gracing her lips as she surveyed each one of them. They must have been a sight to see for the matriarch's forehead wrinkled in concern, "Is everything alright?"

Hidden behind her long sleeve, Sakura smirked smugly when her mother cleared her throat and smoothed down the folds of her kimono in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. "Yes, Uchiha-san. All is well."

"Behave yourself," Mebuki warned Sakura under her breath, moving to follow her husband and the matchmaker into the house, "Do not dare shame our clan any further."

Sakura scoffed in the privacy of her mind. It was Mebuki who 'disgraced' the Haruno name by inadvertently shedding the stolid composure she only dons in public. Her tongue itched to lash back, but Sakura knew it was neither the time nor place for a verbal battle to ensue between them. No, she needed to gear up for a different fight.

One she dares not lose.

Rolling her tight shoulders, she took small, measured steps towards the entrance of the uncertain future that loomed before her. Slow and gentle, precisely the way she had been taught at the academy all those years ago.

 _Click._

 _Clack._

 _Click._

 _Clack._

With each step forward, the ominous, hollow sound of her geta hitting the cemented path echoed somberly in her ears, mimicking the tick of a time bomb seconds away from erupting. But Sakura was unafraid. Unwavering determination simmered beneath the surface of apprehension, and it lent her the courage to stride through the budding minefield with the will to survive.

And _she will_ survive.

Passing the entryway, into the house, the proverbial bomb detonated mutely. Her unease and hesitation faded away like wisps of jittery smoke in the summer breeze. She wiped her face clean of weak emotions, and against all social etiquettes, Sakura unabashedly caught the eyes of the man who held the power to reign in her independence.

She refuses to tie herself to _any_ man.

There was no room for mistakes.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

The atmosphere enshrouding them was stifling. The Uchihas' dauntingly rigid postures and cold veneer unnerved her, tempting her to fidget and stretch and cower in intimidation. But Sakura detached herself from the fear, feigning a relaxed exterior. She kept her back ramrod, and her nose turned high, adamantly refusing to show any weakness.

They settled down in a spacious four-corner room with tatami floorings. An Uchiha clan emblem—a large red and white fan—hung on one wall, covering almost its entire expanse. Directly opposite it, the wall-to-wall shoji doors were pushed aside, granting its occupants an unspoilt view of the vast gardens beyond the engawa. Minimalist navy cushions surrounded a low, rectangular table set at the centre, and eating ware for seven was arranged meticulously on top, but otherwise, the place was bereft of furnishings.

It befitted the Uchihas' ever dispassionate image.

Uchiha Kamiko sat at the head of the table. The patriarch of each household took up seats on either side of her, followed by the respective matriarchs. Sakura sat beside her mother, precisely in front of the man who is supposedly her match.

Uchiha Itachi, Konoha's youngest ANBU Captain, the Uchiha family's rightful heir and Sasuke's ever-beloved older brother. He was the person who stood beside Mikoto at the entrance to welcome the Harunos. It was _he_ who greeted Sakura's glare with a calm gaze, mocking her disrespect with a polite incline of his head.

Uchiha Itachi.

The handful of times they met were never on pleasant terms. He was always there to witness her lowest points, silently judging her attire to her behaviour as she made a permanent fool out of herself. Sakura had a hard time wrapping her head around the idea that a man of his social calibre would ever spare her a glance. It seemed nothing more than a joke, but the elders expect her to believe Uchiha Itachi was the man who wants to claim her as his wife.

Uchiha Itachi.

Sakura wondered if it's bad she was a tad disappointed.

"What a sickening turn of events," she grumbled under her breath.

"Did you say something, Sakura?"

All attention swung towards her, but it was the stern warning ringing in her father's voice that pierced her raw with shame. By deducting the affectionate honorific from her name, Kizashi was wordlessly daring her to repeat what she said—to test his dwindling tolerance and suffer the subsequent consequences. Sakura valued what little liberties she had too much to rise to the bait.

Shaking her head firmly, she replied, "No, otou-san."

Sakura lowered her eyes in the ruse of resignation, but the sudden prickly sensation skimming across the skin of her lower neck halted her. The fine hair on her arms rose. She quenched the reflex to shiver. Sakura peered up, locking gazes with her omiai partner. There was a knowing glint in those dark, depthless voids, telling her he had heard her brazen mutterings.

 _Good._

It meant she's one act closer to dissuading him from marrying her. One act closer to her goal.

Hopefully.

A girl who appeared no older than Sakura scurried into the room. She was quick but nimble as went about setting platters of assorted appetisers onto the table. Bowing at her waist, the girl left walking backwards, her head down and hands clasped over her stomach. Only once she had stepped out of the door did the girl turn her back to them.

Sakura raised her brows at the display of rigorous discipline. If that was the Uchihas' expected level of control over house help, she couldn't begin to imagine how much more domesticated Uchiha wives were.

Chopsticks tinkled against ceramic as everyone else dug into the food. Sakura remained still. As aesthetically appetising it was, the mix of anxious desperation and despair lodged in her stomach left no spare room for food. Sakura would rather not risk throwing up on the exquisite piece of kimono she was wearing.

Taking notice of her daughter's idleness, Mebuki made it a point to pile several sashimi slices on Sakura's plate before filling her own. She nudged Sakura tactfully using her elbow, knowing it'll send the needed message. Mebuki then struck a conversation with the matriarch and the matchmaker about the finest teas around Konoha. It was arbitrary, but it diverted attention away from her daughter's discourtesy.

Fugaku and Kizashi paid no heed to the women's chatter, distracted by their own conference about the village's current state of affairs.

Subtly rolling her eyes at them, Sakura picked mindlessly at the items on her dish. The rich aroma wafted past her nose, but it failed to make her mouth water. She waited for someone to address the obvious occasion at hand. The sooner they get done with this insanity, the faster she could get her hands on another mission.

Except no one seemed eager to accommodate her wishes today. The adults carried on with their meaningless small talk, not showing the least intent to include her or Itachi. Her patience waned.

Sakura may be a novice when it comes to omiai, but she doubted this was how the gathering was supposed to be conducted. If she remembers Ino's glorified tales correctly, the matchmaker should be intermediating a conversation between the two candidates for them to get acquainted. They are, after all, the central focus of the entire ordeal.

Contrarily, the parents' presence left an itch on her intuition she couldn't quite scratch. She couldn't recollect a time when either Ino's mother or father accompanied her during a meeting. Even Hinata had attended them alone. So why were theirs here?

She _felt_ that she knew the answer. It was there, tucked in the recesses of her mind, narrowly out of reach. It teased her with its skilful elusion.

"So Sakura." She jumped in her seat, her head snapping towards the unexpected attention. "Tell us about yourself."

Sakura's forehead creased in confusion, wondering if she heard him right. "Pardon?"

The edge of Fugaku's mouth twitched. Sakura couldn't decide if it was out of amusement or annoyance. "Tell us about yourself. What do you usually like to do?"

"Normal things?"

Bewildered looks followed her ridiculous reply, and she flushed in embarrassment. Squirming in her seat, she cursed them for backing her into a corner when she was quite convinced the Uchihas already have a detailed information booklet about her.

"Don't you often visit Meisa-san's store?" Sakura's jaw unhinged, not having expected Itachi to speak up let alone help her out of the minor predicament. But as she looked at him, his eyes softened with encouragement.

"Yes, I enjoy spending my free time there. Plants have always interested me, even as a child."

Maybe she was hallucinating, but Sakura could swear Fugaku smirked as he threw Mikoto a side glance. "Is there any particular reason as to why?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. That was a dangerous question. A little too personal even. "I made my first friend, Yamanaka Ino, because of the wildflowers growing on the hills on the outskirts of the village. As you know, the Yamanakas own a floristry. I used to help out at the shop every weekend a few years ago. I still do sometimes, but now I'm more intrigued by medicinal herbs." At the Uchiha patriarch's questioning gaze, she elaborated, "I work as a medic."

Perking up in her seat, Mikoto asked, "Oh, in which section?"

"I—" Sakura stopped short when she felt the sting of razor-sharp nails digging into her thigh. Swallowing a hiss, she swatted Mebuki's hands away and continued like she wasn't reproached just a second ago. _It's not as if they don't already know, mother dear._ "The shinobi sector, Uchiha-san. I'm the Head Surgeon."

Mikoto hummed but otherwise gave no response. Clearly, she saw no point in interrogating the medic any further. The matriarch had her answer, and Sakura had taken a giant leap towards her freedom.

The Uchihas were known to put immense value in their family name. Driven by immense pride, their family goes to unspeakable lengths to uphold their prestige. They would never want to associate themselves with a woman bearing the label of a rebel let alone permit their precious heir to marry her.

It would be scandalous.

The dialogue soon lulled into another bout of silence, only more strained. Mebuki's rage bled in thick waves, and the Uchihas' judgements hung heavy in the air. But Sakura didn't have it in her to give a damn. She would never deny her profession to please people who couldn't accept her for who she was. Her mother included.

A soft tapping on wood sliced through the palpable tension in the room.

 _Thank heavens for small favours._

The house help excused themselves before entering, armed with trays stacked to the brim with the next course. Their footsteps were imperceptible as they moved around, retrieving empty bowls, replacing them with new plates. Miso soup, steamed rice, chilled vegetables, grilled fish and meat… various tantalising dishes crowded the tabletop in a strangely organised manner.

Sakura had to hand it to the Uchihas. They held nothing back when treating their guests.

Rolling her shoulders, Sakura straightened her back and pulled a bowl of rice closer to her. She served herself a decent helping of vegetables and seafood, trying her utmost to ignore the heated stare boring a hole into her face.

"He's doing it again," Sakura grumbled under her breath, stabbing a tempura with her chopsticks. She shoved the hot piece into her mouth, chewing it as slovenly as a goat—her parents were too distracted to reprimand her behaviour anyways.

 _Eating Etiquette 101: Never spear food with your chopsticks. It is boorish, and a proper lady refrains from such uncivilised acts._

Whenever they happened to bump into each other around the village, Uchiha Itachi never failed to scrutinise her from head to foot. It was not an entirely unfounded action since, more often than not, Sakura was a sight to behold. Her clothes would be rumpled, her hair mussed up and parts of her body either dirtied or bruised. He must have such an unfavourable image of her because the man made no secret of his disdain.

Itachi has yet to verbally state his scorn, but it was shown in the way he indirectly admonished her crassness when she dissed that haughty old croon for insulting Naruto. It rang clear in his soured features when he stumbled into her tousled mess after the strenuous thirteen-hour surgery she struggled through to save his brother's life.

It was evident, and it was an added reason as to why his supposed interest in her made absolutely no sense.

Aimlessly mixing the food around her bowl, Sakura concluded it was far more plausible that her parents pulled every last string in their connections to get a hold of this opportunity. It made her wonder if they took her previous encounters with Itachi into account while hatching their schemes. Did they feel his dislike emanate from his pores like she did? Considering Mebuki and Kizashi's desperate attempts to impress his family, though, she didn't doubt her parents conceived this to be their first meeting.

But it mattered not. Their lack of insight worked well in Sakura's favour.

It wasn't too far-fetched to believe the Uchihas accepted this omiai as a one-time formality. The Haruno name held enough stature behind it to prevent the Uchihas from immediately turning down their suggestion for an omiai. It was all about petty power play. After this meeting, the Uchihas would be free to reject further offers without the threat of malignant rumours staining their name.

And her job as Head Surgeon seemed to have sealed that fate.

Her parents' plans were doomed to fail, and Sakura never felt more vindicated. But she didn't count her blessings just yet. After all, one cannot determine how the winds would turn.

"Is the food not to your liking?"

Sakura as startled out of her reverie. Her flustered little head whipped towards the owner of the voice, and without thought, she blurted, "What?"

Sakura grunted when an elbow jabbed at her side. Again. Her mother's reproach was sound, so she made an effort to correct her speech. "Pardon me, Mikoto-san, but could you repeat that? I wasn't paying attention."

Taking a furtive peek at Itachi, Sakura caught the minuscule tilt of the corner of his lips. He was laughing at her, _the jerk._

Mikoto smiled, not unkindly, giving an indicative nod at the mutilated food on Sakura's bowl. "The food. Is it not to your liking?"

The extent of her rudeness dawned on her. Sakura was quick to negate, waving her hands frantically. "No, no. The food is wonderful. I'm just too nervous to eat right now." It wasn't an outright lie, but neither was it the wholesome truth.

"No worries, it is understandable. This is your first omiai, is it not?"

Mikoto's gaze weighed heavily on Sakura as if it was dissecting her words and actions apart to uncover what hides beneath her exterior. It made her feel remarkably exposed. Naked.

"Yes," Sakura replied, dutifully ignoring the growing numbness of her legs. Her brow ticked in distress as the ache to adjust her posture grew, but under that watchful stare, she couldn't find it in herself to move.

"Perhaps you want to skip the meal; have a walk around the district instead?" Something in the matriarch's tone alerted her. Mikoto wasn't proposing a mere suggestion, but rather, she was relaying an order. "Itachi can show you around."

Blindly faithful to his mother's word, Itachi inclined his head then set aside his chopsticks. Sakura bit her lip, glancing frantically between Itachi who stood from his seat and his mother whose smile sent chills of dread down to her bone. Should she go or should she stay?

Which option was least favourable?

"Go," Mebuki whispered at her side, and she need not say more. Sakura scrambled to her feet, forcing her deadened legs to run after Itachi despite her ambition to contravene her own mother's wiles; the urge to escape Mikoto's scrutiny prevailed over it.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

For the first time in a very long while, there was no requisite for Itachi to be on constant alert. He had no need to hesitate or conceal his presence and identity as he inspected her. Sitting in her direct line of vision, he savoured the lack of hindrances, readily absorbing the entirety of her existence.

He found her stubbornness amusing. If he were not as observant as he was, Sakura would seem completely unaffected by the tense interaction around her. Calm, even. Yet the subtle rustling of her clothes reached his ears, the pinch of her mouth captured his attention.

She is not the calm she portrayed herself to be.

And he supposes it would be even stranger if she were truly unruffled.

From the day he sent the formal request for her hand in marriage to this morning, he had agonised about his decision, over and over, turning his feelings inside out until he no longer knew what he wanted. Itachi questioned, and he questioned again whether he placed his counters on the right grid. Shisui's disagreement echoed obnoxiously in his ears like a broken record, refusing to quieten unless it successfully coerced him to take a step back and reconsider while his actions were still reversible.

Shisui was right. Marriage was a whole different ballgame. Signing her name into his family registry, living together and exposing himself to her contrasted dramatically from watching her comings and goings from a distance. The latter was harmless, but the former could be irrevocably damaging. Permanent. Once the vows were exchanged, the documents stamped and registered, there was no turning back.

Not for Sakura.

As a man, it was socially acceptable for Itachi to file for divorce— even re-marry if he so desired. But divorce was synonymous with a woman's ruination. A divorce would do nothing but add to the list of senseless matters the villagers would condemn Sakura for, and that was an outcome Itachi feared.

An outcome he needed to avoid.

Earlier this morning, as he prepped to formally meet the Harunos, Itachi barely convinced himself to agree that yes, the move for marriage was too hurried. Too risky. So he braced himself for her parents' inevitable outrage at rescinding his offer for their daughter's hand. He was mentally deliberating the choice words he would use when suddenly, she entered his house and immediately caught his gaze.

He was taken aback, but he was also unbelievably relieved.

There was a determined fire burning in her emerald pits, fueled by a firm resolution that flowed in sheer abundance. One look sufficiently reconfirmed the reasons he chose her. One look and all the doubts and worries he needlessly shouldered ebbed away. Sakura would be an extraordinary matriarch of his clan, but most of all, she was the woman he wanted to share his life with.

Now, if only she'll let him.

"Perhaps you want to skip the meal; have a walk around the district instead? Itachi can show you around."

The underlying command in his mother's velveteen voice left no room for objection. So despite the apparent reluctance glossing over Sakura's features, Itachi set his eating utensils aside and rose to his feet. He didn't want to force her, but neither did he wish for them both to suffer his mother's incoming wrath.

Itachi wasted no time to wait for Sakura to gather her wits. He turned on his heels, striding towards the pathway which leads to the lake. He didn't doubt she would follow, and she didn't disappoint his certainty. Not a second after he stepped off of the engawa, onto the stone path, his ears picked up on the scuffle of her hurried footsteps scrambling after him.

And for a logic beyond him, it made him smile.

Slowing his gait, he lingered awhile until she caught up with him. Neither attempted to strike up a conversation, leisurely enjoying the distraction their surroundings provided. Itachi watched her watch in wonder as they strolled through the gardens, relishing the spark in her eyes when she caught sight of the vast array of plants and flowers.

The length of time she spent wandering inside their village's specialist herb store hadn't escaped his notice. Each time she visited, she was lost within its confines for hours before emerging with a pot of new herbs and a satisfied grin that matched the spring in her step. Perched on an adjacent building's rooftop, Itachi never tires of patiently waiting for her to exit the little abode because the joy she exuded after every visit was contagious.

Itachi had always wondered why those multipurpose plants fascinated her to such extremes. Although Sakura's answer to his father's question seemed straightforward, there was a vagueness about it that hinted her hobby was influenced by more than just the Yamanaka heiress. But no matter. Itachi will figure it sooner or later.

Once they reached the end of the garden, Sakura craned her neck back at the bed of herbs, unable to tear her longing gaze away from it. Itachi bit down a chuckle. The inexplicable love for Flora was one of the many quirks Sakura shared with his mother. When the time comes, he hopes the common ground would ease their ability to bond.

Walking side-by-side across the main street, the warmth of summer mornings enveloped them, warding off the cold draft that dissipated slowly as the sun rose higher. They passed by several shops preparing for a new work day. A few of his relatives meandered outside their houses, inclining their heads at them in greeting. No one called out to him like they usually did and he guesses it might be on account of his distinctly female company.

Their curiosity must have been piqued.

Stealing a glance at the woman who occupied his head, Itachi was immediately taken aback to by her growing agitation. With every foot she put forward, Sakura appeared to manoeuvre her body closer and closer to him. Her widened eyes darted from him to the other Uchihas they encountered, then back again until she decidedly settled her gaze on the cemented road. Her loose fringe hung listlessly, obscuring his view of her face.

She, in the simplest term, bewildered him. For the life of him, Itachi couldn't fathom the swift shift of her mood. One moment she was deeply enthralled by the vegetation around her, the next she was cowering away from people they passed by.

Why, though? What was she afraid of?

Sadly enough, the answers eluded him. It cruelly reminding him that he knew nothing about her. What little he did manage to scrape together through his observations barely thawed her depths. Itachi doesn't truly know Sakura. He doesn't know why she loves what she loves; doesn't know what draws out her fright; doesn't know the intimate, little details which made her Haruno Sakura and not just the peculiar girl he had unwittingly fallen for.

And it frustrated him.

Suddenly, she lurched forward, her feet entangling at the loss of balance. Itachi found his body moving of its own accord. Before he could fully comprehend his actions, his hands reached for her, prepared to break her fall. But the moment his fingers poised to grab hold of her shoulders, Sakura jerked away. She took two hasty steps back, widening the distance between them.

The air around them stilled. Awkwardness descended upon them in thick, stifling layers.

"Thank you," Sakura cleared her throat, dusting the skirt of her kimono in an act to reel in her composure, "but I'm fine."

His eyes automatically roamed over her body, inspecting every inch of her to pinpoint any possible injury. Detecting none, he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Hn."

A strange look flitted across her face, but it vanished before Itachi could put a name to it. "So, where exactly are we going?"

Clearly, she wanted to change topics. Itachi internally debated if he should brave addressing her evident turmoil. The hands fidgeting with the material of her obi dissuaded him, though. Complying with her silent wishes, he nodded towards the body of water below the grassy slope bordering the roadside. "The lake."

The deep blue waters glimmered like precious gems under the direct glare of light. Its glossy surface imitated a mirror, reflecting the hues of the cloudless sky along with the blurred images of the vegetation thriving on its banks. The waning croons of songbirds echoed gayly throughout the open space. A dry gust of wind whisked through the dew-packed trees, blowing fallen leaves and petals onto the water.

Descending the stone stairway built into the slope, Itachi led Sakura to the dock. When his mother suggested for them to take a mini excursion around the Uchiha district, the first place he thought of was this lake. Something in him nudged to show her one of the areas he spent most of his time in as a child. He wanted to explain why he brought her here, glorify her with the poignant memories this lake witnessed; express how dear to his heart it was. But his lead-ladened tongue stuck to the floor of his mouth, too hesitant to move.

It didn't help his cause that Sakura constructed a palpable wall between them. All the intangible barrier accomplished was to amplify the discomfort which forced them to tread with caution.

"This place is beautiful," Sakura commented, awe lilting in her voice. "Do you come out here often?"

"Hn."

Itachi berated himself inwardly. That wasn't how he was supposed to respond! There were so many things he could have said, so many alternate answers he could have given, but the words floating in his mind refused to string into a coherent sentence.

Her dull chuckle almost made him wince. "Well, you are brothers alright. If the dark hair and dark eyes don't give it away, the curt responses and caveman-like grunts does the job."

As much as Itachi loved little brother, he couldn't decipher how he felt to be compared to Sasuke by a person he saw as a romantic interest. A person who, evidently, Sasuke was already close to, but Itachi struggled to get to know.

It wasn't a very pleasant feeling.

Knowing she wouldn't receive a reply, Sakura readily took off her geta. She lifted the hem of her kimono to her knees and moved to the edge of the dock. Crouching low, she balanced herself on one leg then carefully dipped the toes of her adjacent leg into the cool waters.

A disarming smile crinkled her eyes, and Itachi decided he didn't need to rack his brains to find a topic worth talking about. He can just do what he does best; relish the joy of observing her as she found delight in the most mundane things.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

That evening, Itachi's knuckles rapped thrice on the wooden door of the Hok age's office. Once his presence was acknowledged, he entered.

The coppery hues of twilight bore through the glass windows, reflecting onto every visible surface in the room that was yet to be seized by the clutches of darkness. It intensified the dismal atmosphere lingering within. Off to a side, there were a dozen children of varying ages standing in three rows of four. Their restlessness was apparent in the way they shifted from foot to foot, their moistened eyes darting to the vacant spaces in the office as if expecting terror to appear out of thin air.

Itachi had no doubt about it. These were the missing Fire Country children his team failed to locate during their last mission.

A woman in a grey yukata stood protectively between Itachi and the children, eyeing him more keenly than a hawk after its prey. As he stepped closer, he can see the beginnings of a scowl colouring her features, but he paid it no mind.

She was of average height, her form slender but well-proportioned. Tucked into a simple updo, her violet-tinged hair was dusted with white. The crows feet marking the edge of her steely eyes were pronounced while the skin of her neck showed clear lines of ageing. She did not fit any of the descriptions of the three girls who worked for the widowed dango stall owner.

Who _was_ this woman?

The ANBU Captain stopped a few inches short of the Hokage's desk and bowed in greeting. "You called for me, Hokage-sama?"

Minato got straight to business. "Itachi, this is Hagihara Aira-san. She runs the Hagihara Child Protection Centre alongside her husband." He gestured towards the woman who saw no point in attempting to hide her suspicion of Itachi. "Hagihara-san, meet Uchiha Itachi, the Captain in charge of the mission to take down Kurosawa."

At the Hokage's revelation, the older woman visibly relaxed. Her oddly unwelcoming demeanour did not offend Itachi. If she ran a child protection centre and the missing children came here with her, it could only attribute to one thing. Somehow, those children had ended up in her care. She must know the atrocities they've been through if she was openly hostile to strangers approaching them.

"A little over a week ago, close to thirty children appeared at our doorstep with no guardian accompanying them," Hagihara set aside her misgivings as she recounted the incident. The slight hitch in her voice belied her pain of reliving the distressing memory. "I managed to coax some of the kids to divulge what had happened. According to them, they were in the midst of an auction, minutes away from being sold off, when a cloaked figure attacked their captors."

The Hokage sent Itachi a telling look.

"This cloaked person also escorted the kids to the shelter, but he fled immediately after ensuring they were safe enough to be left alone," Minato continued to explain. Resting his elbows on the desk, he steepled his fingers to prevent them from tapping incessantly against the wooden frame. "Hagihara-san nursed the children to the best of their abilities. Her husband made arrangements to send the other kids to their respective villages. Hagihara-san brought the Konoha children back here herself so she could testify as well as to give crucial evidence."

Itachi kept his emotions neutral in spite of his confusion.

Hagihara handed him a piece of paper. It was creased and dirtied at the edges, the oily blotches replicating the form of small fingers. Unfolding the paper, he expected to read a message or a warning of some sort, but instead, his critical gaze latched onto the painting of a purple flower. Its numerous petals were elongated and narrow, cramped together to resemble the bulb of green thorns it protruded from.

"It's a thistle," Hagihara clarified, confirming his hunches, "In the language of flowers, it signifies defiance. It's also, as I've heard, the symbol Kuro no Senshi uses."

 _That_ was news to Itachi.

He hadn't known Kuro no Senshi left clues of his involvement in the missions he looted. A tad sceptical of the information, Itachi looked to the Hokage for confirmation.

Minato assented with a tilt of his chin. "It's not public knowledge. The paintings began appearing at mission sites only a couple of years ago. When the ANBU I sent after Kuro no Senshi discovered the link between the paintings and the renegade, I banned them from spreading the news. That way, it's easier to distinguish which missions Kuro no Senshi undertook and which were a mere fluke."

The Hokage's decision to keep the characteristic clue confidential was rightly justified. The infamous renegade was exceptionally evasive. His mysteriousness alone makes it difficult to differentiate between missions he stole and missions distributed to missing-nins and rebel groups through the black market. If rumours spread about Kuro no Senshi's official symbol, it wasn't beyond reason for missing-nins to start faking paintings of thistles to save their own hide. They would unjustly blame their crimes on an innocent as a strategy to mislead hunter nins.

But wait…

"If the paintings were not public knowledge," Itachi turned to address Hagihara, "then how did you hear about it?"

"Maki-chan told me." Hagihara peeked over her shoulder, her gaze drowning in compassionate sorrow. "Kuro no Senshi had given her the paper with the instructions to hand it over to me. He had also informed her of the flower's meaning."

Itachi followed the older woman's line of sight. A little girl who looked to be the oldest stood in the first row, next to where the Hokage sat. She didn't turn at the mention of her name, lost in thought as she stared blankly at the sun sinking behind the Hokage Monument. Despite her inattentiveness, she held tightly onto the hand of the youngest child, a boy who could be no older than three. The poor toddler was trembling, tears glistening as it trickled in thick rivulets down his flushed cheeks.

The sight tugged at Itachi's heart, and the urge to comfort the boy surged through him. He knew he couldn't, though. Not while he was here for duty.

"Did she see what he looked like?" Itachi knew the question was pointless, but it was better to be completely certain.

Sighing, Hagihara shook her head. "I've asked her about it, but Maki-chan refuses to speak up about him."

The girl's reluctance to discuss the subject spoke for itself. Maki _has_ caught a glimpse of the otherwise faceless convict. She could know the shade of his eyes, the colour of his hair or even his seeming age. But, interrogating a child recovering from distraught was unethical. Inhumane.

The ANBU Captain will just have to find other means to catch Kuro no Senshi and uncover his secrets.

Itachi inspected the paper in his hands once more. The painting was beautiful, the delicate brush lines and careful mix of watercolour shades showing it was perfected by professional hands. Thistles usually signified Pain, Protection and Pride, but the lesser known symbolism was Defiance.

What exactly was Kuro no Senshi opposing? Their village leader? The council elders?

Or mayhaps the shinobi system in itself.

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

In the still afternoon air, the melody of nature's choir resonated clearly around training ground three. The river's knee-deep waters gushed and tumbled over jagged rocks, its tuneful gurgles a backdrop to the energetic hum of cicadas. The flap of feathers was distinct when a murder of crows rushed over the open glade, their caws reverberating soundly. Bees buzzed from summer bloom to summer bloom, sipping sweet, succulent nectar, dispersing pollen throughout the length of its travel.

Sakura sat beneath the shade of a tree, her back resting against its rough trunk as she idly admired the way a stray sunbeam filtered through a gap in the dense foliage. Most people would see the spot of light on the shadowed ground then glance away, not caring to question or to put meaning in its existence. Kuro no Senshi was much alike. The organisation existed solely because there were cracks in the shinobi system. Kunoichi conducted missions with haphazard ease because men chose to overlook the obvious.

Or perhaps they're apprehensive about adopting an uncommon mindset.

A breeze whistled past Sakura, thick and heavy with humidity, barely able to lift even the dry dust from the ground. Her forehead was sprinkled with sweat, but her arms laid limp on her crossed legs, too tired to wipe it off. The perspiration would return in no time anyway. Sighing pensively, Sakura let her eyes droop shut. If her mother were to see her at this moment, with the hem of her yukata hiked up to her thighs to accommodate her posture and her hair askew from a quick updo, she would faint. The mere thought of it tugged a smile on her lips.

 _Shliiing— c_ lang!

The jarring clash of metal striking metal disturbed the tranquil harmony, and Sakura faced forwards only to see Naruto wielding a single kunai to block Sasuke's katana from slicing his chest.

"Give up already, idiot," Sasuke directed with a smug smirk. He put more weight on his sword, forcing the blond to bend over backwards. "There's no way you can escape."

Naruto's sandals scrunched against small rocks as he adjusted his footing to keep balance, silently grateful for the undue support of the stump digging into his back. "Never, dattebayo!"

At his own proclamation, Naruto disappeared in a puff of smoke. The loss of stability caused the Uchiha to stagger. Grunting in irritation, Sasuke took a full turn, surveying the glade for his cheating teammate. "This is supposed to be a taijutsu spar with weapons, Naruto. No ninjutsu allowed."

"Teme, we're ninjas. Kakashi-sensei always told us to look beneath the underneath. Expect the unexpected."

Picking up the particular location Naruto's voice originated from, Sasuke ran towards it, his hand slipping into his weapons pouch. He threw four shurikens at the flicker of orange he detected from the corner of his sharp eye, but it zipped aimlessly through the leaves of a tree.

Suddenly, Naruto reappeared mid-air, just a few meters above Sasuke. His leg was outstretched, targeting to hit the Uchiha's upper body. "Take this, _teme_ ," he screamed out boldly.

With lightning fast reflexes, Sasuke spun on the balls of his feet and grabbed hold of his teammate's ankle. He used the momentum to throw him effortlessly across the training ground. Not wasting a moment, he rushed towards him once more, sheathing his katana into its scabbard.

"You're distracted today."

Sakura jerked in surprised at the unexpected voice to her immediate left, stealing her attention away from the fight. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Sai sitting on a flat boulder with his legs crossed at his knee. A drawing book rested on his lap, a pencil in his hand as his wrist flicked in long, slow strokes across the paper. She had forgotten his presence.

"No, I'm not," she denied.

"Normally, you would be engrossed by the spar, but today you're unusually enthralled by those leaves." Sai did not take his eyes away from his art piece as he replied. It left Sakura marginally curious about what he was drawing. "And you've sighed twenty-three times since you sat."

Sakura gaped at him, incredulous. "You actually counted?"

"Should I not have?"

"It's creepy," Naruto commented, rolling over in the dirt twice to avoid the fireball headed towards him.

Sai's hand stilled from shading his drawing. He looked up at them, his brows meeting in confusion. "How so?"

Sakura knew it was pointless to respond.

Three years ago, Sakura was sent along with Naruto, Kakashi, and Team Gai to Suna on their mission to rescue Gaara. She was the team's accompanying medic, tasked only with healing the Kazekage's poisoned brother. A week after they returned home from that successful mission, they met Sai. He was assigned as replacement of Team 7's fallen teammate. Naruto had kicked up a fuss about it, but the Hokage refused to budge with his decision, and with grudging acceptance, Naruto introduced Sai to Sakura, claiming they would meet sooner or later.

Their first impression of Sai, simply put, was that he's a tactless, incorrigible jerk. Within minutes of getting acquainted, he managed to insult Naruto, nickname Sakura 'Ugly', and worse, denounce an absent Sasuke as a deserter—all with a fake smile painted across his pale face.

Back then, Sasuke was a sensitive topic no one dared to raise in their presence. Sai's unjustified accusation provoked Naruto to attack him with reckless abandon, but Sakura held him back. Pasting on a fake smile of her own, she imagined striking Sai's forehead and watching his rude ass punt to the other end of the village. Having been aware of the gathering crowd, however, she settled for stepping on his toes, daring him under her breath to accuse Sasuke without proof one more time. She distinctly remembers him choke down his scream when his bones cracked under the pressure she exerted.

Getas were the most irritating footwear, but they're useful to ward off the ignorant.

It quickly became apparent that Sai was not only socially inept but also emotionally stunted. Sakura often comes across him in bookstores and at the public library, reading up guides on social interactions, memorising ludicrous etiquettes and stiff rules. He would check definitions of every known emotion then try to put them into context. His effort was acknowledgeable, prompting those close to him to be more understanding, but doubts lingered about where he came from and what kind of life he had lived for him to turn out this way.

At times, Sakura wonders if he really was in the same shinobi rank as the rest of Team 7.

Sai was a person who was very monotonous with his emotions. So it shocked everyone into a stupor when he announced his engagement to Ino three months ago. It shocked Sakura even more that she didn't have an inkling about it. Ino was her best friend. She had always thought the Yamanaka heiress would end up with Sasuke, either by hook or by crook, seeing as how she'd been fawning over him since their adolescence.

It seems Sakura thought wrong, though.

"So what's on your mind, Sakura-chan?" Naruto asked, ducking low so the katana would slice through air instead of his neck. "Is it some bastard patient again?"

It warmed her chest when all three turned their heads towards her, fully expecting an answer. Despite the line society drew to segregate genders, giving men the higher status and teaching them to look down on women, Team 7 showed her once again that they defied those lessons. She can be honest with them.

"I attended an omiai."

Her announcement visibly took them off-guard. Sasuke paused mid-charge. Naruto tripped on his feet, landing face first in the dirt. Sai's eyes merely widened.

Sakura pursed her lips, fully aware their reactions weren't entirely out of line. Considering her lack of omiai meetings throughout the years as well as her evident distaste for men, it might even be warranted. Still, it unsettled her, making her feel like some bad joke worth criticising.

Pushing himself up, Naruto adjusted his position so he could sit cross-legged on the ground. Dusting his hands on his pants, he questioned, "When was this?"

"Yesterday."

"Which clan was foolish enough to believe you're worthy of continuing their family lineage?"

Sakura scoffed in disbelief at Sasuke's impudence. He stood metres in front of her, resting his weight on one leg, arms crossed over his chest. His face was adorned with an egotistical smirk that ticked her the wrong way. If he were any closer to her, she would've risked her kunoichi career to bash his head into the ground.

" _Your_ clan, Sasuke."

Smug satisfaction coursed through her when Naruto's smothered snickers reached her ears, and Sasuke's smirk slipped into oblivion. Vengeance was such sweet, sweet agony.

Clearing his throat, Sasuke jibed at her once more. "So who's the unlucky man? I'll be sure to send condolence flowers to the poor soul. He had to settle for you after all."

"Your brother."

Naruto no longer bothered to try and hide his amusement, clutching his stomach as he rolled over, guffawing loudly at Sasuke's failed attempt to regain his pride. Sakura didn't think the situation was as laughable as the blond made it out to be, but she relished the thrill of outplaying the Uchiha cockiness.

"I guess this is an appropriate time to say 'you put your foot in your mouth.'" Sai quipped in, looking directly at the Uchiha who scowled in anger. With the mindset of a child, Sasuke turned his cheek away from them.

 _That damned Itachi._

Sasuke knew there was something fishy about seeing Itachi around the house so often during this past month. For someone who took long missions back to back, his schedule had been pretty lax lately. Now the pieces fit, and Sasuke berated himself for not noticing it sooner.

Scoff. An omiai? Sasuke hadn't been aware his brother was meeting potential marriage partners, let alone contemplating settling down. With Sakura at that. It baffled him. Knowing his brother, Itachi must care for her to some extent to even consider her— _Sasuke didn't even think Itachi acknowledged her existence!_

Sasuke felt a distinct surge of betrayal as he realised his family failed to inform him about such important details. Itachi obliquely made a fool out of him by withholding information, and Sasuke couldn't wait to get back at him for the embarrassment he had to go through as a result.

"Did something happen during the meeting?" Sai asked.

Sakura raised her shoulders in a careless shrug. "Nothing remarkable. The atmosphere was tense, and we didn't do much other than eat." They need not know about the awkward moment at the lake and the failed attempt at conversation. She would never hear the end of it if they did.

"Then what's the issue? It's not as if one meeting means you'll get married immediately."

"Exactly, Sakura-chan," Naruto tried to reassure her, "Most omiai gets cancelled if the candidates are incompatible."

Letting out a groan of despair, Sakura let the back of her head hit the trunk with a loud thud. The entire Uchiha clan had seen her walking alongside their beloved heir. People are _already_ talking about the rumoured link between she who never attended an omiai and him who was of age to get married. Once the gossip mongers catch hold of the possibility of engagement, it would be the last of her quiet days. Those conniving, passive-aggressive clan women would be unto her faster than Lee's village sprint record. Their claws would strike the minute she 'steps out of her place.'

And getting engaged to Konoha's top bachelor was considered stepping out of place.

"At the end of the meeting, I overheard Mikoto-san tell my parents that they'll let them know soon if the engagement would continue as planned."

" _Ehh?!_ " God bless Naruto. At least he understands her distress. "But you can't get engaged without your consent."

Sasuke kicked Naruto's back, making him crash hard on the ground. The blond cursed, throwing him a dirty look. "Idiot, which progressive world do you live in?" Sasuke then turned to Sakura and said, "It seems to me like you attended your pre-engagement confirmation instead of an omiai. Your parents were present too, weren't they?"

Sakura's breath stopped short.

A pre-engagement confirmation. That was what she had been failing to catch onto all this time! It was never an omiai, to begin with. She never had a choice or fighting chance to escape in the first place. The wedding would push through with or without her consent. Sakura's opinion had never mattered.

The members of Team 7 jerked in surprise when Sakura suddenly screeched, brutally ruffling her hair.

" _Tsk,_ " Sasuke hissed, "Why'd you do that you freak?"

Sai rubbed the length of his forefinger on his chin as he inspected the mess that she was before turning to his teammates and, in an all too serious tone, told them, "I think she has finally cracked. Perhaps we should admit her to an asylum?"

"Hn," Sasuke conceded with a scrunch of his nose.

Sakura shot them both an icy glare. "I just _don't_ want to get married."

"Why not?" Genuine curiosity laced Naruto's voice. Sakura sighed, thinking her reasons should be obvious by now.

"Because men are egotistical, sexist pigs who believe women only belong in the kitchen and in the bedroom."

Naruto pouted. "That's mean, Sakura-chan. Some of us don't think that way."

"One would be ignorant to assume a handful of men is a representative of their entire gender," Sai remarked. His was voice flat, completely devoid of emotion.

Sakura parted her lips to counter their claim but shut it again when she grasped that they weren't wrong. She unjustly categorised all men as sexists. She was letting herself become as equally prejudiced as the rest of society.

"Aniki is a good person, Sakura," Sasuke commented, looking straight into her eyes to indicate his seriousness, "Don't judge my brother before you get to know him."

Feeling chagrined, she nodded and gnawed on her lip as she realised how offensive she must have been. She mustered up the courage to apologise, but Kakashi interrupted her when appeared in his typical fashion; with a burst of smoke and his orange book faithfully open in his hands.

"So, what did I miss?"

"You're late!" Naruto yelled as he scrambled to his feet.

Sakura let her attention get stolen by a dragonfly that whizzed past her, the rapid flap of its wings alluding to how quick her world had turned and how equally quick she wishes she could run away.

* * *

 **AN:-** _Hello, dear readers! I apologise for taking an unnecessarily long time to upload this chapter. It wasn't intentional. Ther external hard drive I had saved all my writing prompts and ideas for_ Porcelain Heart _got corrupted, and I had to wait two months to get it back. But the wait was pointless because they couldn't recover any of my files. I had to re-write this entire chapter instead of just editing the bits and pieces I had written._

 _Please accept this extra long chapter as an apology :)_

 _Anyways! I'll definitely try to update the Chapter 5 sooner than I did this one. Thank you for all your support!_


	6. Chapter 4(II)- Announcement

**PORCELAIN HEART  
** AN ITASAKU ANNOUNCEMENT

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Dear readers,

 **I QUIT!**

Now that I have your undivided attention, please read carefully as this is important.

 **If you are re-reader** , I suggest you **return to Chapter 1** and begin again  
as I have made noticeable changes to Porcelain Heart.  
There are bits that I have removed and new scenes I added  
that better fit the storyline.  
I apologise if this is an inconvenience.

If you are a new reader, welcome to my fanfiction!  
Please feel free to continue reading  
and I hope you've enjoyed it thus far.

 **Chapter 5** shall be uploaded soon enough.  
I'm sincerely sorry for not having updated as I have promised,  
but University has kept busy, and I'm incompetent at balancing my time.  
But I'm on holiday for about a month, so I will try my best  
to continue the story as much as I could  
before the next semester begins.

Thank you for all your support and utmost patience.  
I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it.

Yours truly,  
 _12SmileyRose_

Toodles!


	7. Chapter 5 (I)

**PORCELAIN HEART** **  
**AN ITASAKU FANFIC

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5  
** p.1

* * *

 _Epigraph:_

Swiping black lipstick across pale lips  
Like ink across parchment  
A black beacon  
In a milky white sea

A subtle act of defiance  
On an obedient child.

— _Unknown_

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Unsteady hips banged against a table. Its wooden frame shook violently, and a half-empty teacup jerked closer to the edge. The round object spun precariously as it came unbalanced, the sharp clamour echoing loud in the deafening silence.

Another sudden movement. Another powerful shake.

The cup tipped.

Its slow descent was excruciating. The cup twirled mid-air. Once. Twice. Sun rays reflected from the ceramic's glazed surface as it plummeted in a motion that was hauntingly vivid. And when it finally crashed rim first against the floor, the ominous sound resonated deep within her soul— Sakura saw her entire world shatter before her eyes.

Edging away from the sodden mess, dazed words slipped past her chapped lips, "What did you say?"

Two gloved hands buried deep in soap suds stilled. Mebuki sighed in exasperation, dropping the plate and sponge back into the water before manoeuvring her body to face her daughter. She leant against the sink, taking her time to carefully peel off each rubber glove. "I said, the engagement ceremony is in two days. You need to apply for leave from the hospital to prepare for it. Preferably today."

Sakura stared blankly at her mother as her ears soaked in the preposterous words. _Blink._ Perhaps she didn't hear it right. _Blink._ There was no engagement; Konoha's busybodies would be abuzz with hysteria if a person of notable status were to be taken off their glamorous matrimonial market shelf.

"Oh," Sakura gulped, "Who's getting married?" The question was rather obtuse, but her cluttered mind adamantly rejected the obvious implications of her mother's statement. "I don't recall hearing any news about one of those harebrained ladies getting hitched."

The veins on the side of Mebuki's forehead ticked. Sakura averted her eyes, choosing to look out the window from over her mother's shoulder. A fake cough strained her throat, a fisted hand rose to cover her mouth. "I mean, I don't think I received an invitation to such a _wondrous_ occasion."

"Sakura." Mebuki's shrill voice was lined with a viciousness that warned Sakura to hold her sarcastic tongue. Her joints locked and her muscles tensed, wary of the brewing storm. Daringly, she met her mother's burning glare. "It's _your_ engagement _."_

The sentence was concise yet lewdly sinister, mocking Sakura as it echoed powerfully— _repetitively_ — in her hollow head. Breath hitching in despair, Sakura felt her knees weaken. The weight of her body suddenly became far too heavy for her feeble limbs, and she stumbled backwards, barely preventing herself from collapsing.

 _Yours yours yours._

The impregnable mask slipped. A flash of concern flickered past Mebuki's impassioned act as she grew aware of the broken pieces of ceramic her daughter stood upon. Blood oozed from the lacerations on Sakura's feet, seeping deep into cracks between the wooden floorboards. The instincts of a concerned mother sprung, and Mebuki scrambled forwards with the intention to help—to inspect how severe the wounds were, but Sakura jerked away from her touch.

 _Yoursyoursyours._

The clock had always ticked, and it had only been a matter of panic before the time was up.

When Sasuke had enlightened her about the actual purpose of the meeting at the Uchiha compound, Sakura fancied the thought of resigning herself to this unwarranted fate. Resisting was pointless after all; her parents would proceed with the engagement despite any protestations. The law only needed Kizashi's approval, and they had it.

Years of working as a prodigal medic had given Sakura a false sense of liberation. Joining the ranks of Kuro no Senshi had unwittingly caused Sakura to develop a separate identity, one that was indifferent and unrestrained by their bigoted society. Brand new Sakura saw no limitations. Brand new Sakura did as she pleased, behaved as she desired, and spoke as she deemed fit.

Brand new Sakura had forgotten _she_ didn't belong to herself.

Her person was not hers to command.

But the merciless reminder now rang clear, shaking off naïve illusions and forced her to face her grim future. It was unideal, but it was one her father chose. To a certain extent, she could respect that.

Had Sakura known the ceremony would occur so soon, though, she would've run the very afternoon at the training grounds. She would have run, and she would have _never_ looked back.

This peculiar situation defied all senses of logic. Konoha Academy had taught them the essence of an omiai. Its basis was to provide a platform for candidates of marriageable age to meet; the formal setting hindering the spread of malicious rumours. Multiple meetings would take place over the course of months, allowing the candidates to get acquainted and assess their compatibility. Then, if the candidates wish to progress with their relationship, a pre-engagement conference would take place. This was when both families meet to determine whether their children's choice of partner was of acceptable background.

Only after the parents have given their approval could an engagement ceremony be arranged.

In Sakura's case, they glossed over the entire courtship and jumped straight into the end game. Her mother's eagerness to marry her off came as no surprise, but her father's newfound impatience shot a dagger through Sakura's heart. It was blunt, it was startling, and _it hurt._

 _Blink blink blink._

She struggled to hold the tears at bay.

"What's going on Okaa-san?" Sakura demanded, vulnerability seeping thick in her husky tone. "This-this is all happening too fast. Engagement after just one meeting is absurd! Unheard of even! _Why_ are you in such a hurry to marry me off?"

Cocking a challenging brow, Mebuki crossed her arms over her chest. "Too fast, Sakura?"

The older woman shook her head, and Sakura couldn't help but feel like she was six years old again, dwindling at a mere height of three feet compared to her mother's five as disappointment etched across Mebuki's face because Sakura was insolent enough to contest her Academy instructor's bigoted teachings.

"You're nineteen Sakura, not sixteen. You should be adapting to raising a child by now, _not_ preparing for your engagement."

"But okaa-san, a lot of girls my age are choosing to marry later. Look at Ino! She's still—"

"You don't have a choice, Sakura!" Mebuki bellowed, the final thread of her patience snapping as she took an intimidating step forward, "Women had _never_ had a choice and they _never_ will! If Ino is choosing to marry later, it's because she has her clan's support. It means there's a larger reason than _'her choice'_ for her family to allow it. Now unfortunately for you, you have no valid reason to keep postponing marriage."

The truth was brutal. It struck Sakura like a mallet slamming into a brick wall, the phantom images of shattered clay splattering onto the ground representing her childish hopes of being free. Futile. Elusive. _Vain_. The truth knocked life out of her lungs, punched her fight straight into submission.

"Does otou-san—" Sakura choked, unable to complete her question.

Mebuki understood, though, and she didn't hesitate to crush her daughter with her callous response, "Your otou-san agrees that this is what's best for you Sakura."

Slow yet gradually, derisive laughter slipped past Sakura's lips, but as the seconds ticked, the crazed cackles were quick to turn into anguish. Her chest heaved with unrepressed sobs, tears raining down her flushed cheeks— _Anger_ simmered in her veins. She clutched her heart, willing her small hands to contain the overpowering feelings of betrayal that threatened to consume her.

"What's best for me," Sakura parroted mindlessly. Her tongue rolled around those four simple words, numb as it pronounced each toxic syllable. Her voice sounded meek even to her own ears. "Don't you and otou-san support my plans for my life, okaa-san?"

It was a question she had never dared to voice before now. A significant part of her remained afraid to hear the answer, but at the same time, Sakura longed to know.

The way her mother's forehead crinkled in remorse made her brace herself for the worst. She didn't like the heartbreak reflected in those glossed pools of Viridian she had inherited. "We love you, Sakura. We'll always support your choices."

 _Lies._

"But not with this. It's time you get married."

 _It's time you get married._

* * *

 **ʚ—ɞ**

* * *

Twinkling stars dotted the sky's dark blue canvas. The waxing gibbous shone bright, its light reflecting magnificently on the polished surface of the Uchiha district lake. Calm waters lapped onto the banks, the steady sound drifting with the gentle breeze that swept over the mingling crowd.

The trees encircling the vast glade swayed to the soft melodies of the musicians on stage. Round paper lanterns were strung from branch to branch, white Christmas lights coiled along the length of its thin cord. A row of rectangular tables bordered one edge, a range of beverages and tantalising finger food sorted intricately on top. Ivory coloured satin tablecloths draped over the cocktail stands scattered across the area, a red ribbon tied loosely around its leg. As the centrepiece, firefly lights ladened the bottom of mason jars filled with baby's breath, a single pink rose cushioned in the middle of the bouquet.

Uchiha Itachi idled beside a burning fire pit, caressing a flute of champagne and feeling utterly ludicrous in a light blue dress shirt and grey slacks. He itched to rip the necktie away and dump it into the pit, but his mother would have his head.

It wasn't often the Uchihas would host a party let alone one based on Western customs, yet Uchiha Mikoto seemed to believe the theme was perfect for this particular occasion. The ever decorous matriarch overlooked most of their long honoured traditions as she organised the event to befit "new beginnings" because it was "simply about time."

Itachi thought his mother just caught a whiff of the crazies. His father held the same sentiment, letting Mikoto set up the entire ordeal as she pleased, biting back his tongue even when she settled on Western attires for tonight's dress code. Although, seeing his father tug on his collar of his shirt, a prominent scowl colouring his face, Fugaku must be regretting not attempting to dissuade mother dearest from her grand ideas.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Itachi took a sip of sparkling wine and scoured the mass of raven-heads. The party was mostly exclusive to his clan. A few exceptions were in attendance, like the Uzumakis who might as well be honorary members of his family, and, of course, the Harunos.

Itachi had found it odd when Sakura's parents had chosen to not invite any other person of their clan. Still, he let it slide. It wasn't in his place to contradict their choice when it was no secret irreconcilable differences had kept the former Haruno head and his wayward daughter apart.

 _Ah, there she is._

Haruno Sakura stood out like a sore thumb. She avoided venturing into the centre of the celebrations, doing her best to remain inconspicuous by lingering at the edge of the crowd. Unfortunately for her, however, her pink hair lured attention faster than the Fire Daimyo's promiscuous granddaughter ever did.

Those lustrous locks were held together by studded ornaments, half up, half down, with a few tasteful strands framing her face. It was a beacon of light in an ocean of nothingness, but Itachi noticed more than just its allure.

It was dark, so perhaps he was conjuring up inexistent details, but he picked up on her guarded stance. Sakura looked everywhere except at her companion, the lines of her slender shoulders taught with palpable tension. All night, Uzumaki Hinata had faithfully hovered at her side, putting considerable effort into coercing her to speak.

But the conversation remained one-sided.

Sakura stayed stubbornly resolute in her silence until suddenly, she hissed. Sakura swiftly swivelled to face Hinata, a baleful glower curling her lips. The fingers wrapped around a highball glass tightened as she snapped a few choice words which made the Hyuuga heiress blanch.

Despite the sheer anger directed at her, Hinata kept her distress hidden beneath a fabricated calm. She whispered coolly in response even though Sakura would have none of it. Sakura retook a step as she contended whatever Hinata had said and the Hyuuga heiress could only shake her head in disappointment.

The pairs' heated exchange didn't escape the rest of the partygoers' attention. Soon enough, Naruto was making his way towards them. He flashed an upset Sakura a faint smile—hoping it would dampen her wrath—before he pulled his wife away. As the young Haruno watched their backs meld into the crowd and away from her, unmistakable regret contorted her face.

It rattled him.

So Uchiha Itachi bid his time.

He waited patiently until Sakura salvaged her wits, wondering what had instigated the fight; it was worrying as, in all his years of observing her, he had never witnessed Sakura argue with her friends. Sure she often bickered with the Yamanaka girl, but those harmless squabbles lacked the malice that fueled her argument with Hinata. It was an anomaly, and his curious ways were unwittingly aroused.

Throwing caution to the wind, his feet manoeuvred towards her.

"Haruno-san," If Sakura was surprised by his approach, she masked it well. The girl only inclined her chin in return, yet her lack of verbal response didn't deter Itachi. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

"Too bad it wasn't longer." It was a snide remark whispered beneath her breath, so Itachi chose to ignore it. The bright, fake smile she threw at him hinted he wasn't meant to hear her contempt. "I've been well."

Keen eyes followed her trembling hands as they hid between the folds of her dress. Slender fingers curled viciously around the silken material, crumpling its smooth surface. Her blank gaze bore through the centrepiece bouquet, conveying the insignificance of his presence in her current state.

Despite the uncertainty nagging him to steer clear of her, Itachi cleared his throat. He held out his palm in hopes that he could lend her the comfort he desperately wanted to give. "Care to join me for a dance?"

Sakura was startled out of her stupor. She raised her head, finally gracing her unwanted companion. "Excuse me?"

"Join me," Itachi thanked the heavens his voice didn't reflect the nervous jitters nibbling away at his composure, "for a dance."

He may have worn a mask of indifference, but there was no denying the fear of rejection when Sakura's lips pursed into a thin line. She eyed his intentions, making no move to voice her answer. Awkwardness nabbed him as the seconds passed.

 _How cruel._

Not a hint of a 'no', nor an indication of a 'yes'. Seeing no further point in prolonging his foolish, _foolish_ attempt, gingerly, Itachi lowered his snubbed appendage.

But then something soft— _something warm_ brushed against his skin.

Itachi looked down only to see Sakura's hand atop his. It was tentative graze, her fingertips a hair's breadth above without actually touching him. If anyone were to ask what went through his head at that moment of triviality, Itachi would be lost for words for no adjective could sufficiently describe the shock, the relief or the elation that fluttered within him.

He reeled in his composure, the corner of his lips tugging as he tightened his hold on her hand. Itachi guided Sakura to the makeshift dance floor, halting once they reached the perimeter of the circle his relatives had formed. He knew Sakura quite well; she wouldn't enjoy mingling at the centre of that dancing horde.

Tentatively, he reached for her waist, but when only a mere inch was left dividing them, a sublime feeling instinctively warned him to stop. Itachi swallowed the lump in his throat. With the due caution of a skilled hunter, he rasped, "May I?"

Sakura quirked her brow, but after a deliberate pause that made Itachi want to squirm, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

Itachi was tempted to grin; he hid his excitement instead.

Instrumental symphonies blanketed the party in its saccharine caress. Their feet fell into step, and their bodies melded as one as they swayed in sync— gentle unlike the hammering beat of his heart. Itachi regarded Sakura with rapt fascination as she let her frustrations fade. The tension in her arms loosened almost instantly once she shuttered her view of the world, easily embodying the languid tunes floating around them.

And under the silvers of moonlight, her beauty was ethereal.

Sakura was a dainty little spitfire, but the subtle dip of her curves was prominent beneath his touch. The sweetheart neckline of her dress contrasted with the sensuous contours of her collarbones. Gliding under the foliage, the muted colours of the fairy lights glistened across her face. Lush eyelashes kissed the pinks of her cheeks. Her Grecian nose was turned up yet it was charming even in its disdain for societal propriety.

And then there were her lips.

They were neither full nor thin, painted a lush rosy red and … sinfully enticing. The length of Itachi's arms pebbled at the sensations soaring through him.

It must be a dream. This deceptively ordinary moment made him feel as if he was wandering through the eternal wilderness of his dreams. Just him and her, side by side, and no one else. There was something about her presence that never failed to liberate him— like she was a breath of fresh air at first sight of dawn after decades of imprisonment in a dingy underground cell.

It was inexplicable, truly.

All Itachi knew was right here, right now, nothing mattered more than the tender joy of holding the woman he adored.

"Haruno-san." Why did he call out to her? He had sought her attention before he could comprehend his reasons.

The way she tilted her head was adorable. "Uchiha-san."

It sounded so wrong, hearing the woman he was to marry call out to him so unfamiliarly. They should be long past the threshold of strangers or mere acquaintances. It was unfitting for Sakura to keep addressing him by his family name, and he was not a man patient enough to wait for the day she no longer did. "Please, call me Itachi."

"Then you may call me Sakura, Itachi-san."

Her easy compliance coloured him surprised. He hadn't expected her to agree, least of all to extend an olive branch and allow him to address her by her given name. It was unexpected, but Itachi wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Hn—Sakura-san," he tested the rhythm of her name on his tongue. It tasted foreign, but he knew, in due time, it would be a song he'd hum all day.

High in spirits, Itachi took a meaningful step back. He raised his hand above her pretty little head, spinning her around. The change in momentum had her hair flowing behind her like a wave of velvet cape. And when she fell back into his arms, she locked his gaze. It was then he noticed what he had failed to acknowledge before.

Their interactions were intimate enough to be deemed improper by the public. Wherever their bodies touched, her warmth seeped through the thick material of his clothes, searing his skin. But for every bit of heat she possessed, her eyes held twice the amount of bitter apathy. She looked at him, but she wasn't seeing him.

Those depthless voids of nothingness stared at a strange man she would never accept as her life partner.

And it _stung._

He wanted to meddle. He wanted to question her—hear her tell him he read her body language wrong, but Sakura was so emotionally withdrawn, Itachi didn't know how to trudge towards closer proximity.

Common sense asserted he let time build up her trust. Rationality argued she needed to know him for him to know her. Yet greed sullied his sanity and impatience ruled over his sensibility. Itachi ached for the day he could pry into her innermost thoughts without any prodding. Just one look at her and he'd know. Telepathy seemed such a ridiculous wish, but it was one he hoped would develop between them over the subsequent years.

For now, though, he needed to resort to words.

"Sakura-san," With a hint of reluctance, he dared to ask her, "Do you hate me?"

Sakura eyed him wearily, wondering where this conversation was heading. But something in him must have screamed desperation, for she replied, "No, I do not."

A wave of relief washed over him as he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "You take an interest in me then."

Itachi hadn't meant to intone the sentence so presumptuously. Effectively communicating his feelings was never one of Itachi's greatest forte, and he fumbled to salvage his respectable image. "I worded that poorly. I merely wished to inquire if I attract you."

But it was too late.

His mistake had already offended Sakura. Disbelief painted her face, and when she scoffed, he nearly winced.

"What, did you think you're every girl's 'tall, dark and handsome' Prince?" Sakura scrutinised him condescendingly from head to toe and back again, "Sorry to burst your pride, _Uchiha-san_ , but not all girls fall for the ridiculously haughty."

Her words were little pinpricks of needles poking holes in his dignity; they were minuscule, but the bite burned nevertheless. How on heaven's wrath did the conservation take this dangerous turn? "Forgive me Sakura-san, that was not what I meant to imply. It's just that we're to be wed and I am curious about your opinion."

Sakura wrenched away from him, immediately halting their dance. Itachi wondered if it's bad he felt unusually bereft.

Taking a step back, Sakura gestured towards the ongoings around them, "Shouldn't you have asked for my opinion long before the situation escalated this far?"

Her snark had Itachi blinking in utter confusion. "Pardon?"

"Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I never wanted this?"

Shock rendered him immobile.

If Itachi was honest, he had never considered the possibility. Sakura was a marriageable maiden nearing the 'end point' of her youth; it was the only fact he took into account before making his move. Wouldn't she be happy to finally quell the villagers' venomous hearsays?

"Marriage was never one of the milestones on my bucket list, let alone wedding into _your_ household. You know of my medic status, Uchiha-san. I refuse to let you and this marriage ruin the career that I worked tirelessly to achieve."

The skirt of her dress billowed violently against the sudden gust of wind, and for a brief instant, Sakura appeared to be a formidable heroine standing on guard for a bloody battle. With a few weapons and a shinobi outfit, she could have even passed as a Jonin. Something seemed bewitching about her in that pause in time, but the trance broke the second Sakura swivelled on her heel, sauntering into the shadows of the forest.

Itachi was left in the dust, contemplating where he had gone wrong. He had asked for her point of view, and he got it. Sakura's statement could not be accused of ill will. It was an honest account of the situation from her perspective, and despite her bravado, there was an underlying bitterness. Restrained yet overflowing with helplessness.

Somehow, that hurt Itachi more. He wanted this impending marriage to bolster her position in society, to give her power over all those who belittled her for her unwavering strength. It wasn't supposed to strip her of her freedom as a medic. He didn't think it would, so why did she?

"Wow little cousin, talk about one step forward and ten steps back." Shisui materialised next to him.

Itachi sighed, unwilling to deal with his older cousin's sarcastic wit after what had occurred. "Don't you have better things to do than spy on me Shisui?"

Shisui faked a dramatic gasp, his hand flying to his heart. "And miss out on you making a fool of yourself? Never!"

* * *

 **AN:-** I have no excuses for the lateness of this update. I'm sorry for making you all wait, but practicals at hospitality school just end up keeping me busy and my brain's always too tired to help me continue to write it out. This chapter's not even complete yet :(

I'll be sure to update the second part of Chapter 5 as soon as I complete it.

Thank you all for your patience and support!


End file.
